My Hand's Work, I Doubt

In the showing of the first tick, my anticipation grows Though with the second, stems only regret For no matter my efforts, satisfaction evades A caption of you, is only slight through words As if a camera, can do no justice What am I through my puny embellished lines? At first hopes of the product, were high Though diminished they were, soon For even a year before, had pessimism overwhelmed As relinquished many pieces prior, I had But through opinions, had my faith been partly restored Albeit my doubt, remained golden Sleep, did I deny much Before the shut of my eyes, was my pen poised and ready Though to the detriment of my heart, did my mind falter As yearn did I, for diction But to my core, was there none to be found The coalesce of letters, lacked potency in description of you Peruse had I, with great repetition Though in my eyes, was there only dread As time, was of no trouble Contentment with my attempted art, was the struggle Beauty it claimed much, to its end But to measure to you, it failed Maybe on its arrival, would the desired response be attained To type out and send, I chose against myself And soothing it was, until reclaim it I could no more The recipient you became, whilst your reply I eluded For a triumph, did I assume in admonishing you Though a loss arrays only, as my sight refutes my hand's work