She said: A town in Iraq’s land
boasted a world-illuming king,
A brilliant sun, without a peer,
as beautiful as spring’s New Year.
All skills which can be reckoned up;
all the accomplished man might hope
To have, he had; and with all that,
with solitude he was content.
For in his horoscope he’d read
he’d dwell in conflict if he wed;
Because of this he sought no wife,
so that he might not suffer strife.
So for a while he dwelt alone
in solitude; was close to none.
To ease his pain, he hoped to find
a loving maid who suited him.
Sunday Poemadmin2024-09-25T19:37:28+00:00