Let me pick from the pages, I saw some interesting ones.
She said yanking the diary, off my hands
She held it at the table, looked at me and smiled
The diary was filled with poetries scribed in love
I was unsure of what it meant,
That was until Friday evening dawned
I was at my drinking corner, ale in hand
As she called out my name and took to the stand
She read out aloud, quite amused by the words
And the crowd sat silent mesmerised by her voice
She stood there weaving magic into my verses
I finally found my poetry come to life
At the fourth stanza she paused and stuttered
In a gentle shyness masked by one raised brow
It seemed she knew, the lady the poem spoke of
She had read one in which she was the muse
She got off the stage , and walked up to my chair
Her eyes were in shock, and her lips were pale
I pulled her closer, both her palms in my right
Whispered about my astonishment of her
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