My years of passion
That I spent writing for you
Have cajoled spirit
To go on devoid of you.
Of years reclusive,
Nothing again I would talk
Even if you ask
With you love, I may not balk.
Loving the same you
Being with the same old clique
But it hurts a lot
When you want to but can’t speak.
I dealt with all that
But I lost to your temper
You asked me to love
But then, I failed to concur
May be I am still a cur.
That I spent writing for you
Have cajoled spirit
To go on devoid of you.
Of years reclusive,
Nothing again I would talk
Even if you ask
With you love, I may not balk.
Loving the same you
Being with the same old clique
But it hurts a lot
When you want to but can’t speak.
I dealt with all that
But I lost to your temper
You asked me to love
But then, I failed to concur
May be I am still a cur.
=============================
Written for 3WW CXXVIII (Cajole, Recluse, Temper)
Tried to follow Choka here; however, the length of the poem may be a concern here.
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