Sovereign! far beyond the scope this world
of rosemary garden at my door,
rest content be oblivion of a host
among daffodils, no heart can afford,
of fickle foe's fiddle that by thought alone,
of e'ery departed look, my mind!
plays a hunch for the parade in the late evening,
of what the stars in secret influence comment
against thy most high deserts;
bereaved of light my shipwrecked dreams:
beside the oak some dry leaves of book in autumn,
no dark can e'er illumine of surpassing wit thy brow,
a golden tress his hair upon the sand dunes,
of broken mast-shaft at north, my age-old love,
hung aloft the ghastly night in silent hours of soliloquy,
the crow on wings, on wings in thy graceful ease,
of woe-begone days under the cow's shed,
much toiled by day's labour, our little john,
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Saturday, April 02, 2016 5:54:08 PM