When waits the soul with bated breath
The love divine, primordial pull,
The captive plays a wondrous game
“Loves me, loves me not” it goes.
When waits the soul of tender heart
For love’s culmination on the cusp
But never seeming to arrive
The heart and soul scream “It must!”
The soul waits hard and with heaviness
And each day grows more impatient
When waits the soul for lover’s voice
Or eyes or touch or gentleness.❤
Tonya LaLonde 