Conscience Poem by Naveed Khalid

Of fealty's Apollo at my door this world
of thy most high deserts,
against all odds, all vicissitudes of the sky,
thy argument more great to prove thee virtuous
than what the stars in secret influence comment
of e'ery flower upon a barren heath in rosemary garden,
that some good conceit of thine hath love-sick thought on thee;
of woe-begone days my shipwrecked dreams,
slowly drifting away from the sand dunes,
of merry weather's day her apparels in spring,
oft steal looks from my bed of crimson joy,
beside the bed of oak in the late evening:
where blue-bells hang o'er the wall on high,
I could see our little john of harplings,
that bewailing night asleep under the bolted sky,
still musing o'er the dale in full bright summer.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Wednesday, January 06,2016 12: 40: 25 PM