Writes For Thou, The Swain Of Thine Poem by Abhisumat Singh

Oh Beloved! Thy memories, so mulct and intact,
Not battles million, shall tarnish these;
Thy smile, a dazzling and priceless artefact,
Not bought by riches, but, brought by love's ease.

‘tis thy swain, who, for thou does write,
Mayhap my love reach to thou;
Methinks, darkness hath quivered by thy light,
This habbit of thine will be explunged, how?

Being apart, is like malisons from mage of rebel,
That stripe this heart, with all their might;
Avec thou, I'm serene and imperturbable,
Whereat all feels tender and right.

Till lives this heart, as it will now;
It shall be unblemished, as it houses thou.