Just A Tad Poem by Nancy Winter Miranda

This thing called love,
a bit far from sane.
Not that we don't get enough,
in fact we live on refrain.

Our daily life consists of talk,
our nights are that of sleep.
We try our hardest to keep our wits,
we have gone so far, so deep.

The time is drawing ever nearer,
for us to be as one,
no longer will we be entwined,
amidst cables, wires, and phone*.

We'll live our life, so soon to be
more closer than before,
for then our chats will be alive,
the distance but a door.

You think us mad?
... just a tad...