Margaret: a poem

Staff Writer

Inches away, my Margaret,

With your beautiful brunette locks,

And your beautiful brown crests for eyes,

You were inches away, my Margaret.

But the pearl to my oyster, dear Margaret,

She garners golden threads,

And has sights like the Caribbean,

Aye, she is the diamond I mine for.

I wish it were you, my dear Margaret,

For thy threads and crests, I need not,

But the yarn upon which you are knitted from,

Alas, I cannot look past.

But tear your knots apart, please fret from,

Because it is not thy yarn that cannot fit,

But rather my own love,

To which we cannot foster,

And for my own yarn, you too surely knew,

That the knots I garner, my Margaret,

Are knots knitted to your admiration,

But never upon your loving.

To that, we must ask,

The cost of embedding our time,

For something we know cannot last,

Because we were both inches away, my Margaret


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