She is still a tonic

She does to me things
She doesn’t want others
To know, learn or spy.
She does to me things
That her man mustn’t know.
She accepted, when intercepted
On her way, my papers about her.
Isn’t it itself a proof of her love?
It itself will serve me as tonic.
27.08.2004

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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