PENDO MY LOVE

It is your voice,and novice,that I hate,my love
When you up your hand cutting me mid-speech
Just to hear you blabber, and your agitation
Are you ever calm, or even a listener?I doubt!
All my ears can hear,or eyes can see,till all be done
Till you sit to listen,
But ah! That time I might not live to see.
I never cease to wonder when last I heard your silence
Yet you don’t sleep in silence,but soundly
Snoring and I recall my thought to kill you
And probably lay you in the parquet flooring.
My love,when last did you sit to hear me finish my word,
Before you quickly interrupt to share your bitterness?
I remember we did not share our vows the other day
Nor finish my proposal at the foyer,
Because you talk too much than think.
Oh,my love,
It’s not hate which I feel for you,I must say,
But love and concern for your tongue
But if I’m left to choose between you and death,
For sure It wouldn’t be you I choose,

Yet I want to talk to you of the little things
So fond, so frail, so foolish that one clings
To keep them ours—who could but understand
A joy in speaking them, thus hand in hand
But I fear,I will be the one to listen,yet desire to talk!
Uncle D