Lion's Heart Poem by Naveed Khalid

I'll not think in vain words of how else
thy beauty's fair be loved more,
of such sweet-scented silence,
less be measured in bronze or gold
than thy blessings of departed looks;
that to my mind still in the late evening,
e'ery graceful ease by love-sick thought on thee,
be made to wear out soon at Minerva's golden brow:
her Cherubim Wing in high heavens,
away from wanton tapestry at thy throne,
against bright-lit mirror of thy most high deserts,
this world of my shipwrecked dreams
under the canopy of a hut,
hath weaved a thread of silken-satin around my head
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
that crow's quill beside dry leaves of book in autumn,
of another rent at midnight lease in waking hour,
that by the sweat of thy brow with pen-pricked angels,
I most my heart hath fed in nurslings of immortality.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Wednesday, December 09,2015 5: 29: 45 PM