O Love, O Sweet, Sweet Love…
A rhyming poem (excerpt from an unpublished story)
The loss of it can make a man too weak
And bring him to the nadir from the peak.
Winning it supplies a man super strength
And to keep it, men may go any length.
Fumbling it can make a fellow so sick
And make a bloke burn up like a dry wick.
The possession of it makes a man glad
Although circumstances be sad and bad.
Losing it can destroy a valiant man
Like rust does to an iron sword or pan.
Its possession makes a man feel alive
And enables him to live, grow and thrive.
The loss of it can rip up a man’s soul
And douse him as water on glowing coal.
Having it makes a man keep on the fight
Even when at tunnel’s end seems no light.
Losing it can bring a man to his end
And a great chap to his grave swiftly send.
The possession of it livens a man’s spirit
And cause a man’s soul to be with bliss lit.
The loss of it heralds too great a sorrow
That may linger even beyond tomorrow.
Having it causes men to feel complete
Oh! Not a thing else could be as sweet!
Enough, no man can ever give, in truth
And enough we can never have, in sooth.
Sweet poison ferried on Cupid’s sharp arrow,
Deeply piercing blighters beyond the marrow.
O love, O sweet, sweet love: sane insanity —
Singular substance in life’s vast vanity.
O Love, O love: the purest sweetest joy —
Tonic that may man’s soul and spirit buoy!
O Love, O Love: the sharpest wildest woe —
O deadly poison borne on Cupid’s arrow!
