She look me in the eye saying you know I don’t care

your writing or your babbling they just don’t take me anywhere.

I just don’t have the time for there’s other things to do

I’ll make you a good home but don’t expect me to cry with you.

He sometimes has trouble putting his feelings into words.

When speaking his thoughts he’s to often miss heard.

But with pencil and paper he can tell of his dreams

Of love and of lonely of truth and of schemes

But if you don’t take time to know him

then you’ll never understand

The heartache's that flows from this gentle loving man

Or the sadness, the tragedy his mind often knows

Nor the love that still flourishes down deep in his soul.

How then can you  know him for few people ever see

that the depths of his ardor are as the roots of a tree

Some roots seem so shallow as they cling near the ground

Others run so very deep their ends can never be found.

So look not in his heart, neither look into his mind

But search deep inside his soul it’s only there you will find

The true essence of compassion no words can explain

It’s there you’ll find all three still you’ll not know his pain.

If your really sure about the things that I do

Darling you didn’t have to say it

your actions has told me its true

So I’m writing down these words before I move alone

For without your trying to understand me,

what good is having a home?

Written By: Troy Windom