Bonafide Lover

Desolate became my heart for you, 

Rag became my love 

And you closed the ajar door of your bosom

On which I had stippled 

Many a time my color. 

My love turned trifling for you.

Like falling leaves,

I fell down from your branches 

And you desolated me from

The opportunity of claiming you 

As my bonafide lover.