Melancholic Born
Why is thy doth of perfectionism?
Melancholic's bore her not
Emeralds, sapphires, diamonds in a row
In April prime, lives her through
Her amulet sparkled like Indian's birthstone
To the glory of her, her alone
She's demure sometimes arduous
You cannnot fetter her like chain of Troy's barbaric men
By Helen's cry and things subside
One, two, three, and deep she carrying the stone
And twa's doomed
She asked, How do I live and die?
For my God, I live in thine.
Copyright © Amor Otong | Year Posted 2015
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