Rhythmic and Metric

What Love Made Me

Who I in truth esteemed thou asked me then;
Except my God revered none I did say.
Soon dolesome grew thou like a pig in pen;
What self did was lose not just night but day.

When spluttered thou hard did not self take heed?
Remember this self calmed thy nerves quite soon.
In thy book you thought this self had no need;
But love suppressed made self a wholesome goon.

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Thou still stand pat, beseeching self to go;
Am fogy say thou hither and yon now?
In God I trust, so His foe is my foe.
But He dotes on all, so may down I bow?

Idea fogy thou might think God is.
Might I make known He is my only bliss?

ALSO READ | In Memory of C M Turner

Image by Stefan Keller from Pixabay

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