My girl, the one I am well pleased with,
only one, whose voice cuddles my brain and stirs my wit,
the very one, I always want to be with,
left me, in the cold like a baby left by his mother, on the street.
I saw her when she was skedaddling down the street.
An image, I wish, I was never there to capture.
Her words drawn on a paper, she left on my desk,
showed, she took off because she couldn't see a future under my sleeve,
and I am not worth, a single sweat nor a shield of her.
In the paper, she left on my desk,
highlighting all her numerous reasons, for closing the cotton,
on our beautiful made in heaven love, that, even the angels always blush,
whenever they sneak out of heaven to watch us, display
our love and affection, like market women display thier goods.
She concluded with a glimpse of hope, for me to drown in,
with her pretty tiny fingers, she wrote at the end of her letter
...I hope, you understand, my love.
At that point, everything above didn't matter,
even the Bible says, better is the end of a matter,
than the beginning, thereof.
©dos_k
D