Sometimes

I could have heard the whisper, yet lies were all it said;
I could have let it pass me by and wondered till I'm dead;
Instead I had to search it out and beg you for the truth -
Not as trusting as dear Esther and not as gentle as Ruth.

I could have said, "I'm coming," but you would have known right there,
And you'd say that you'd forgive me but I said I didn't care,
So it left with me still lonely, a shadow of your past -
Bet you can't wait until you are rid of me at last. 

The End

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