His Love

His love was,
Too little, too late;
It was never enough,
And yet I still wait.

Too little, too late;
Given then taken bit by bit,
And yet I still wait,
For something that’s gone before I can hold it.

Given then taken bit by bit,
Pulling on a thread,
For something that’s gone before I can hold it;
A prize dangled above my head.

Pulling on a thread,
It was never enough,
A prize dangled above my head,
His love was.

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