The Dying Love Poem by Olalekan Ololade Sobande

THE DYING LOVE
:
There was a young dame
Who lived down the lane
The young lady
Had pretty curl
She was young and so fair
And jet-black shone her hair.
She walks in beauty, like the night,
Of cloudless climes and starry kite.
The news traveled from north to south,
Here and there by word of mouth.
Many want to take her up tenderly
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly
Young and so fair!
The young lady took her hat,
Jumped on a chair and said 'who is that?
I replied 'O lady fair and so sweet'
'Arise and let us go'
'Where comes not rain or snow',
'Excess of cold or heat...'
'In winter when the fields are white, '
'I shall sing a song for your delight'
'In spring when woods are getting green'
'I'll try and tell you what I mean'.
She bemoaned 'O Lekan in my hours of ease'
'You may say anything you please...'
I bemused 'shall I, wasting in despair, '
'Die, because a woman's fair? '
What death is worse than this
When her delight,
Her weal, her joy, her bliss,
Is from her sight?
And oh! How short are human schemes!
She died young, here ended all her golden dreams.
Her words fly up, her thoughts remain below,
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.