^ that's a pretty cute little love poem
I wrote something as well; just a small monologue about one of my characters.
You're not entirely sure how this happened, but you're not young anymore. No, you're not that old, not even fifty yet; but you know your personal clock is ticking out. You've almost got used to the constant pain in your joints, and that old wound is acting up now more than ever. You can't sleep much at night. And it feels like your life is slipping out of your hands; you're no longer in control of anything. You're not even sure what the higher-ups are up to these days, and you used to be one of them. Now you're stuck here, far away from home and with nothing to do.
Oh, you go about your daily life, and deal with the problems as they come up, but these are mundane, unimportant things and you can't help thinking you could be doing so much more. You feel restless; and in your free time you go out walking, wandering the streets of this strange town, searching for something that is always out of your reach. You want to go home, only you're not sure where home is. Not here, certainly, and not where you came from, either. Home was a place you'd hoped to build, once - a place worth living in; and you're sure you could still be doing something about it now, if only they'd let you. But you're stuck here, wasting your time, simply wasting away, thinking about all the things you could, should and would do.
So you walk along the deserted streets, your feet kicking up rotting leaves that nobody bothered to sweep up, and trying not to think about the realisation that's been slowly creeping into your heart - that even if that place is ever built, it will be by someone else, and you will not see it.
Not very original or interesting, I suppose; really just a small experiment with second-person narration, since I wanted to try something unusual.