Your Biggest Fan

I wrote a little poem ‘bout your body
But it seemed so cliché
So I pondered your soul instead
And put that pen away

You, a mother with an artist's heart
Whose preference is Merlot
And a good book on a cold night
With nowhere to go

You love Lorca and laughing at me
When I can't understand
And I know you love me,
I'm sure, as much as you can

Your Biggest Fan


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