In His Bitterest Gall Poem by Folayemi Akande

Earth's moan rises on steady groan No life is meant but left for rent Death is own, when life has grown Our fate is bent when angels're sent. Life's sweet scent is in him absent For his press is entwined as tress A breath is lent, not to be dente' He that hopes less, lives life's full guess. Hell is mess as table of chess No life be vain or death retain Doth Lord profess in His goodness He not be bain, lest live in vein. None is lore, married to such law Grace will pore as blissful sea shore.