Common Measure Poem by Ajay Seshadri

A feeble minded giant lives,
Who cannot spell his doom;
A corner for his whim mind gives,
That must give way to gloom.

For a wish is all that he grants,
A tombstone to breathe in,
Berries in plenty he implants,
The sense of his free sin.

Unstable he is in his moves,
A toddler in physique;
Then sinks in tandem clement blues
To shine he needs a cheek!

I wonder if the Lord is cold
For he who is invoked
Would not suffer a pain retold
Leaving his chum provoked.