Watch close there, at the door.
I think I should expect some mail,
Unless her hand has not yet traced
The words she wishes to share.
Waiting, waiting each day
For my letter to arrive.
Maybe it was lost,
Maybe the service ran astray.
Oh, how I tremble.
What folly! What shame!
Shall I ever know if she wrote
The letter that should be mine?
So I sit again and scribble,
Begging her to send another,
Praying she will accept my plea
To not be ignored.
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