Is That Me?

Rating: 4.0

when love comes, we sit and sigh
wanders to and fro
on the proscenium of the mind
slowly unbidden joy-drops fill our eyes
a little word comes along, 'is that me? '
it’s soft and scarcely heard

when love departs, we mope apart
as owls mope on a tree
although we keenly feel the pain
we can’t tell what ails the heart
slowly a little word comes along 'is that me? '
of all the eloquence of the love
what lies hidden is scarcely known

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