Waning, waxing, not dyeing.

Dear, you are the lot
I most misunderstood.
Sometimes you wane,
Sometimes you wax,
When it is so, you intrigue.
I came there in abandonment,
Grown over lukewarm gesture
But was greeted with open arms,
Along with new found friend.
Yes, though away, I ripple you.
It is more than an embrace.
11.10.2001, Mannarghat