Sonnet 6, All Love That's Wasted Poem by Peter S. Quinn

All love that's wasted when melancholy's here,
The beauties thing that's forever's gone or lost;
When for some absence you'll not hold or bear,
Such legacy that takes its toll and cost.
If you hold me dear then do not me abuse,
For time will come when there's no more to give;
And none of us forever wish to lose,
For we must carry on and despair outlive.
Each profitless love is yours now to deceive,
Though everything is either strict or free;
Do not to my love ever be a thief,
For it's like the root of your greenest tree.
When fate does call, be there to gently feel,
What's of imaginary and what's real.