|
| |
The Last Instalment of Love
O, how near, yet how far
Stands your last portion
Of love, my Dove
I have waited, a patient
The last instalment
Of your love is slow
O, You killed me
With instalments of love
And I died for your style
The charm of your tongue
The smell of your heart
The pinch of your eye
They finished me
O, then the promise
Which peeped and popped
Your lip to mine it said
For ever and ever Amen
I want it, now, my dove
The last instalment
Of your love!
O, how near, yet how far
Stands your last portion
Of love, my Dove
I have waited, a patient
The last instalment
Of your love is slow
Copyright ©
Peter Onyancha
|
|