O Sickly Love
O, hail the nutrient at we starved,
That so long fadeth yet not,
But by doom yet still bear,
A blare of a life not seen,
Whilst all aversion at naught,
Let me not to this infirmity of love,
At we sickly commit,
That feebly against now we rumble,
O sick love,
What to my wandering star thou findeth hast,
To impede me this lady of finest scarlet,
Unwinding me of this covetous gaze,
O sick love,
Permit me this night,
To my woman of love hence seek,
That may hence end my long love sought,
And bed me this night with her rosy lips
and her body of fine fragrances.
poem by Folayemi Akande
Added by Poetry Lover
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