Charles McMullen (24th March 1955 / Eastleigh, Hampshire.)
How is my love when she's alone?
Miles apart and doesn't phone.
Where is the justice that lets us pine?
Is the pain hers and also mine?
Why does distance keep us apart?
One from t'others counterpart.
When will our meeting, time, allow?
Fate and action, mixed somehow.
The passion of action forces this:
To enjoy a worthy, heartfelt kiss!
Lovers must feel both pain and pleasure,
Which time nor distance cannot measure.
Expect love it may not be there;
Run from it and it will dare
To chastise and win you back,
It goes like that it has this knack.
When it flows smooth as a valley's stream,
Sly destiny knows its cunning scheme.
Ethereal threads bond it together
To sway around in all types of weather.
Love can return with a sparkle,
Like Mr Hyde and Dr Jekyll.
Comments about this poem (The Wait by Charles McMullen )
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