For you the words were written 

By your beauty, I was smitten

It was definitely the love bug

by which I was bitten;

The ink spilled itself onto the page

Framing lines on your beauty as I could gauge

Asking me to give them a writer’s stage;

But, it didn’t matter as you couldn’t read them

It was just another scribble from a writer’s pen

For till you don’t read my poems,they don’t become a gem.