Sonnet 147
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"My love is as a fever longing still, For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please." - William Shakespeare

John William Waterhouse - Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May [1908]
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A Sam Scott poem:
5th November 2023
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Listen to poem:
You said you were cured
What sickness doth ail you?
I thought we were friends
So what wall did you break through?
We chat so infrequently
Your condition is hidden
Like you locked away feelings
Like a wild horse unridden
You said you were cured
If it's true I'm all for it
I just wanted the best
If it hurts don't ignore it
I wonder if somewhere
I neglected to say this
As we journeyed so briefly
As a friend was I remiss?
You said you were cured
Of this thing unrecounted
Of this heaviest burden
From your shoulders, unmounted
I pray for you; healing
And love and a wholeness
I'm sorry it's late
I'm regretful for slowness
I pray for you; respite
And a peace unrelenting
That the kindness of others
Overwhelms while presenting
You said you were cured
I don't want to believe it
If the medicine's love
There's still time to receive it
Copyright © Sam Scott | Year Posted 2023
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