Letters To Shindara by E.R. Chesterfield Literary Poetry

LETTERS 18

Rose

LETTERS 18

As summer famished devours the green infants of Spring,

And big fishes do have small ones for meat in the seas;

Thus gaping Grief swallows my days and years, and so does increase:

Therefore feeds on me to grow, as I grow lean.

Riches to riches the rich add, as the poor do years to years;

My Grief is rich, and I poor produce years to enrich him –

But his riches start to wane, for I start to lose my vim;

And when in service should I die, my Grief may fall to tears –

Not for love of his slave, but for mere loss of gain.

Yet he must weep, and in his tears would I find joy;

And so with thoughts to trade with Death I start to toy –

To oppress my Oppressor down in that bargain.

Proudest Shindara, you are all my grief!

And to see you weep, I’ll be my own sweet thief!




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About the author

Sydney Chesterfield

Poet, Playwright, Philosopher, Humanitarian, mad lover of children and unflinching fighter for equality on all grounds viz. Women's rights, child rights, sine die.

Twitter: @syd_field