Love fire dies, drenched.
I hired a cunning poet
To pen her beauty and glory.
Not a verse but echoed her gaiety,
I began my Tale of Love
So subtly and so intriguingly;
That she grew helpless to ward off
Those words penned in sequence
And thrust to her in all reverence.
Her desire was set aflame.
Some dragons threw some water
And the boiling heart had frozen.
The milking cow turned barren.
No illicit love has enough air to burn.
07.01.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Added by Poetry Lover
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