ANTICIPATION OF A WEAKLING
Blood-red eyes, bountiful lies,
Tear soaked cheeks, melancholy weeks,
Rain drops falling on the roof,
The imprint, in the soil, of a hoof!
Mood is dampened, anticipation’s high,
Love is in the air, betrayal is without a sigh,
I cry silently with fear,
Lest someone will hear.
Pain is part and parcel of love,
Adorable is the emotion, as graceful as a dove,
To get hurt is natural.
And to make up is cultural!
I don’t know when this will stop,
No idea when my love will hop,
Over the barriers around us,
And triumph over all odds.
The setting’s in 18th century England
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