Sick Of Woe Poem by Naveed Akram

Sickness is the sweetest woe,
Lovesick men are older than the snow;
For it shrinks, exploding the scene,
Welling in eyes, overcome by gleam.
My lovely elves are lovely in ears
And mainly the lovesick over the years.
Their sick hearts collect too well,
So go to mountains to just yell
And find a good-looking elf shy away
From humans huddled in a ray.

Shadows cry, moons light their candles,
Bodies pour out their love, when dying handles.
The lovesick depend on the lovely men,
The lovely women disturb the ten
Who live to the day we die and live,
Their ministries expound a living when we give.