but rather, i so much fear;
like one awaiting a dear
to come out of the bush clearly,
he ends up spearing the tail.
like one awaiting a rose to blosom fully,
it withers in his hands
so do i fear dear to loose fully.
its not that am impatient dear,
but its rather what i suffer;
spending sleepless nights.
and heart beating months.
its not that am impatient dear
but rather more a love patient.
if you think me too quick dear,
then you wish me slow death.
in the same condition, you would
haste than i do dear.
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