Portion

As not in merit's solaced wing,
my love undying knows a spring
of willfulness consorts upbring,
and then confronting leaves to cling -

To sourcefulness, my own thy cringe
at losing more thy space to string
of uselessness thy people's ring
becomes as one, while thee in fling -

Give way, thy own, while others bring
a portion - while thy root infringed
is scattered, with refracting tinge.
Thee grasping, only ransom binge -

In repetition's grant - assault
thy mind and heart, confused - result!
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

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