Trove Forgotten... Poem by Robert Mutsaers

I never tensioned my sword with craze,
As to then it hung let, with the farce close,
My love mixed her upset, and suddenly....,
Her aid was earlier up than the emptiness of those,
Who gift a stand in immense shower of blustery.

The adjourning clue ever projects,
To meet the bars that are always too close,
In our journey with the acceptable neglects,
Which ensure and simply give shower to our trove.

She never mentioned a word or phrase,
As to when the sun set, and the stars rose,
Her love fixed my regret, and suddenly,
My faith was earlier up than the willingness for those;
Who leave behind this intense flower of scrutiny.

The morning sun never forgets,
To greet the stars that are always to pose,
In our journey with the comfortable begets,
That pure and multiply the flower of our prose.

Nairobi, February 15,2012