She hasn't said a word she hasn't meant,
Yet seems un-genuine - but she replied
And said that she forgave the grudge that died
Long tides ago; this moment I have dreamt
Of many times. This rapid pulse may tempt
To surge accountancy for all inside
That deals with love, yet I cannot confide
Within myself for Patience I was lent
By God above. Do I sustain my tongue
And may forever sense within a twitch
Or else assert my feelings out my lung
And may abash myself? Which one to stitch
And suture in a letter? Do I shout
My love out loud or treat it as a lout?