If my feelings to you were any warmer, or any colder,
If our friendship was any younger, or any older,
If there was a difference in any way,
Then perhaps I could think of something more to say.

But as it is, or seems to be,
like this tepid, old cup of tea
neither cold and
neither hot,
You’re not much disliked,
Nor liked a lot.

So there’s not much there, though there is something,
And oh, so little that it could be nothing,
And if you leave, or return some day,
Then maybe I will have more to say.



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Filed under All Poetry

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