I'm not very good
At a lot of things;
I cannot paint
You pictures
because the beautiful
things in my head
cannot be translated,
Nor can I sing to you,
As my voice has an
Uncanny habit of
falling flat,
Nor can I play for you,
As my fingers fumble
When the thoughts
Cross over how
You look, watching me
But I can brush
the knots
from your hair,
And work the knots
Out of your back
When your day
has become too much
to bear,
I'm not good and much,
But I will be good to
You.
