Of all the battles that I have waged and won
I keep no records.
For those were to be fought and won
And thus were done.
But it is this little skirmish that started unnoticed
Closer to the resting place of all desires
That now threatens with a wily flutter
And silently consumes me in a raging fire.
It is not as it were before
For there is no friend that fights with me
Or a foe like the ones that I fought before.
Would it be tragic then of me to lose
For what she then would call her own
I have been but a mere custodian since long
And waited for her all this while
To claim as her own.
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