Fever Poem by Nel Omofolarin

You crawls my crest in wandering ache
Thy thuds wean hopeful remnants of my strength
Boiling my blood in topmost Fahrenheit
Maimed, you would wish I be
That you might pay thy tithe by my graveside
No wonder thy myth cheers at my sickly groan
Flattering you in knightly odes.
Yet, i am too young to be long gone
While you steals shadow near dusk
While you sink daring moon high dawn
Be godly, an ogre
To spare me a fair share of life
Till i auction my yet unsung melodies
For scorn of luckier generations
Till am good a god
To sink in lofty depth of my grave