Tag modern rhyming poems
He fell from the tip of my pen,
He fell from the edge of my rhymes,
He fell out of my poems,
He slipped from between the lines.
He fell from the edge of my rhymes,
He fell out of my poems,
He slipped from between the lines.
His lips were made of paper,
Unkissable and cold,
But his hands were a sonnet
So beautifully told.
