Emerald Poem by peter adeleke

Lo! With thy cold-loving tired lids, rest,

O my Emerald; in the records of time,

When logs of fireflies in sacred forest,

Plume the parted-smoke, in lull-nightly clime.


Lay o'er the meadow of mildew leafage,

Like a seasoned-fume o'er a casket stream,

Slumber, over the green-coated foliage;

Till the sun fades away thy lofty dream.


O, my trotting steps, trapped in thy love's snare,

Like a fly, struck-down in spider's cob-web;

Behold the eyes of mine, with tender care,

Ere my penchants, like rivers, flow and ebb.


Let us play with time, little mile away,

To where roses are cloaked in crimson hue,

And knotted plants bloom to the peering day;

With the droplet of a mild-frozen dew.