Lend Me The Love You Cannot Give Poem by Roy Ballard

O lover mine, if Venus can't complain

that her high altar which she set in you

I ever did neglect nor take in vain,

why have you have cast me out and said adieu?

See what a thing is made of love so whipped

and left alone to live or die on air:

as fleshless as the bones left in the crypt,

as tattered as the relic shrouds they wear.

Love cannot take its sustenance from showers

nor live on berries where the birds have stripped,

nor like the swift snatch flies from airy towers

nor fly at all with wings so cruelly clipped.

The love you cannot give me you could lend

for love is not a heavy coin to spend.