Waiting Out The Days...

Every morning,
There is great expectation;
I'm on my toes,
As if expecting a dictation.

Again and again,
I glance for a gesture,
As I yearn
For relief from my conjecture.

Ah! the wave,
She bids me to walk with her;
I obey hoping
My questions would soon be fewer.

We pace
  up and down,
To the swing of her arms;
Stolid,
  she keeps me out
Of the ring of her charms.

Her veil,
It shrouds her face,
Stubborn before
Even the wind and his ways.

As the Sun sets,
My heart yearns for a rest;
But,
  I'll again place bets,
Keep guessing,
  to win this contest.

I shall begin with
The first of the morning rays,
To try and find out
If her charms behoove her grace.

The contest though,
I'm convinced, is not a race;
It's already been months,
I surely can
  wait out the days.