A Youngman From Verona To The Library Archives Poem by Naveed Khalid

Ah, then but to think on thee in silent hours of the night,
Of what all too weird in beauty's belligerent smile,
A broccoli beneath the bed of crimson joy;
Of my doomed youth that carries a garden unto Erin's gate,
Dear me! in whose light hath fled that stirrs the mind
Against the world of thy most high deserts,
Too soon shall fade by the sweat of thy brow;
Along the pavement of cow parsley in yellow-pages of history:
Indeed! by thatch-eaves is run by the sea-ashore,
My age-old love to thee suffice at sunset of the evening sky,
Must I of my adversaries be part to play a hunch for the parade;
Where least I find if more be less than half thy looks so fair
To unhindered scope of beauty abounds that day of unaltered eye,
E'ery flower upon a barren heath more temperate in e'er melting snow,
Her most ardent desire to fill the page some vulgar paper to rehearse,
That crow's quill in thy presence abides by thee alone.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Wednesday, April 22,2015 7: 38: 45 PM