How happy he, who is free from love’s bare
How happy he, who is free from love’s bare
The gnawing pains, the spiral downs
Contently he breaths his native distilled air
At his own terms in his own grounds
Bless he who yearns for the simple life
No antagonism no confrontations no strife
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread
Whose flocks yield timely his warm attire
Whose trees in summer lend him protecting shade
And in winter comforting sighing popping fire
Who would believe of such thing so uncommon
so out of this world as a reasonable stable woman
Pretty, witty and yet a friend
But a foll such a fairy session will attend
Bless he who can unconcernedly ignore such phantom and find
His hours, his days, his years slide away
In good health of body, lonely yet in peace of mind
In the comfort of the night in the sun break of the day
And at night he sleeps unbothered or studies at ease
Together mixes sweet dreams, thoughtful recreation
And silent innocence which most does please
With pure divine meditation
Without a woman wrapped with passion and awed by diverse rumors
Grave through false pride, and rejoice in glee of folly
No equal balanced mixture of maturity and good humor
Nor sensible, sensitive poetic melancholy
Oh thus let me live, unloved, unheard, unknown
And thus not missed, aloof and secluded let me die
Flee from this world; steal from love’s claws and not a stone
To tell where I lastly lie
copy rights 2010
poem by Isaac Ziv
Added by Poetry Lover
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