Pheasant's Last Words Poem by Naveed Khalid

Let it befitting to the circumstance,
that odds are to my reckoning days;
of unaccounted judgment to wear out soon,
my tattered soul of passion worn
between lip and desire, a league is took
to christening- -I, too, hath passed that age!
so sickening to the bones, my love,
in thy diminished sense of being:
one more in hope to be Lord's serviceable men
under the burden of thy yoke, too dear,
e'ery living breath to passing years, agoing, agoing...

(C) Naveed Khalid

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