#Mystical Poetry
When sky do weep, each tear a separate woe, How shall my heart from dearest friend be torn? The winds lament, in sighs that sadly blow; How snatch my hand from warmth it hath worn? Lo, the heaven grieves, and fiery bolts do fall From winged steeds, breathing smoke and dread; How may I then from those who love me call My spirit forth, where true-born faith is bred? And the feathered chorister on broken spray Wails alone; how leave my friend in dust? The bloom, forlorn, her perfume stolen away By fumes she made for joy, now foul, unjust. When tender infants in ruin parch and pine, How can I drink sweet sips and call them mine? ------ Affaq 🌹