A waiter writes a poem in a French restaurant
I am only a toothpick that never gets a kiss from your sherry lips.
I am only a serviette Mademoiselle,
You wipe your golden fingers and throw away.
I am only a firefly in your chandelier room of heart
And really I am a fool who cries for the Moon in daylight.
*To the moths where they fly at night and burn with flames.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Added by Poetry Lover
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