Virus of Distrust

She doesn’t seem to trust me,

Though she is so lovely,

In her heart, the virus of suspicion,

Has turned into a mammoth banyan.

I tell her that I’m ever faithful to her,

I’m not that sort of lover,

As D.H. Lawrence was,

Yet she looks at me like a flying eagle thus.

I don’t know what the remedy of suspicion is,

O God! When'll her disbelief cease?

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