Poem: It is with me

It is with me as the poor man's plea
For a change, to a hostel sleep
But not as deep as Poseidon's sea
Or as high as the Messiah's seat.
My love is mortal at best
When it rest, no jest can undo thy vest,
For it sets in a heart with sinful pests,
It rest amidst a fraudulent will.
It is with me as any mother's child,
My love for thee, is as odd as all things rare.  



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