Beaten Poem by Christine Onwenu

I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
How oft when thou, my music, music playst,
Nor services to do, till you require.
One on another’s neck, do witness bear

As, to prevent our maladies unseen,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
siege of battering days,
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest,

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,

Beated and chopped with tanned antiquity,
Who is it that says most, which can say more