In those moments of great despair,
I often wonder here and there,
Just how often she tends to care,
Wether or not I'm really there.
Or does she fabricate just so,
We collaborate to and fro,
On what would make her worries go,
Out the window; to and fro.
Does she care for me at all,
To give my tired form a call,
And speak to me with wondrous gall,
Does she care? I tend to call.
And honestly I cannot tell,
If she is casting there a spell,
In that moment to make me well,
By faking there a panicked spell.
But every night or some such time,
She calls on me to ease her mind,
And soothe her soul with words sublime,
She calls on me; every time.
So then I wonder if it's true,
Or just a carefully crafted ruse,
To connect with her anew,
In the context of a ruse.