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With sadness I wrote music and anger poetry
With love my pens have run dry but my mind filling with memories
When I think love and happiness blank pages come to mind
These things are more than just paper, pens and words.
They are everyday paintings, images in action
Like every little movement with the wind
It’s unpredictable and you can only guess which direction it will blow
My thoughts run for hours on how I feel
But sounding it out never feels right
Like humming the course in a song
It will never sound like what it truly means
So when they say there are no words for love
It’s because love isn’t a word, it’s a picture
------ Kenneth D. Woodard
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