Rumination

Upon the paths of yore I tread With faltering steps, in memories; And it hurts again the hurt I felt For a love as subtle as the breeze: With its first signs, —my heart does tease. Then, I mistook it for rejection, And I pushed myself to feel no more: The wounds were raw in self-projection, And it hurt me to the core, For I could not prove my love was gone! I have tried, so very hard, To conceal its pulsing presence! — To conceal the verses of the bard: You have insisted to feel in absence: You have poisoned the love's essence! No trembling, sigh, or blushing cheeks Could then escape your vigilant eyes: I have stood exposed before your tricks, With vulnerable heart before your eyes— Whilst you mocked it in disguise!