As I sit here,

Waiting for the Spring.

To see the flowers' bloom,

And hear the birds sing.


My thoughts turn to you,

And what you mean to me.

Filling all my days and nights,

And all my wrongs and rights.


Anticipation is the game.

Like reoccurring pain.

Can't wait for you to leave.

Then, can't wait for you to return again.


The mind is a funny thing.

Creating what we foresee.

Reality is never the same,

It's just what will be. 


Still, I can't escape,

The Temptress of my thought.

And hope that I'm not too disappointed,

When it comes to naught. 


Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull




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