Forlorn Lady
At last, long last
I saw him leave
Leave for good
And a stern stare
That followed him
Saw him turn not
Towards me
Not once
I swear!
For if truth be told
He turned not at all!
But hurried forth briskly
To a point north of here
To his dear mademoiselle!
My tears will not cease
To irrigate my bosom
My stare will not decrease
For in the midst of all this
I dare not my strength
Discountenance, dare I?
Copyright © Gerald Kithinji | Year Posted 2013
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