Deserted

O, my dear Oriole
Who has made you with such elegance
A mélange of many colours
My longing is none but you
Though I waited in the day
The sun brought me no reply
And my gaze was deep at night
Yet, your desire remains with another
Shall I call myself deserted
Like the lone lion in the jungle
Homeless in the land of love and affection
While I continue among the living
I will hope to make a home
On the same tree as my Oriole

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Thought of a lovable doe.
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