In a derelict poor farmer’s meadow.
His face was brightly shining and aglow
Melted with angst visible on his brow, though.
Time and again, your merciless arrow
Strew desolation and brought the death blow
He protested in a voice shaking and low.
But this very bud I’ve decided to grow
Whether you thwart or readily let go.
Yet, if you robbed what Venus did bestow,
I would never ever plough up nor sow.
As the bud continued to bloom and grow,
His apprehensions and worries did so.
Soon, deluge and gale blasted in a row.
To his heartache, he heard Mars jeer and crow
Viciously voicing the end of the show.
So aggrieved as he was and full of woe,
He asked Mars if he’d go home on furlough,
Take off his armour and lay down his bow,
Proudly chant his triumph over his foe
And spitefully crow over his sorrow.
Curtly the trumpets were blown for retreat
Forthwith, the shattering thunderstorm withdrew.
The farmer was struck down in a dead faint
But with an overwhelmingly strong faith
For any callous clout to overthrow.
His flogged body was immensely weak
Yet his sturdy spirit none could subdue.
In his dizziness he heard someone crow
And wondered if he had a spiteful foe.
Swiftly, he brought his life under review
But could only discern a dim shadow
At whom he heard Mars rumble and bellow
Such a man cannot meet his waterloo.
There’s something divine in him, now I know
That allows him to brave a tornado.
And the austere suffering he went trough
Has uncovered that blissful residue.
I deem, he’ll be unforgivably venged
And archangels will come to his rescue.
So bellicose and stern as I may be
When facing the divine I yield and bow.
And now that I have witnessed all and saw
Not only will I willingly let go
But from the sight of mankind I shall hide
And to men, my face, I will never show.
Mars’s voice was merely a faint echo
When Jupiter replied, let it be so!
And helping the farmer up to his feet
The eagle said in a voice so mellow
The King of Gods left the sentence to you
As to that which is no more a shadow.
I went through a tough experience, that’s true
He said to the King of Gods’ messenger
But came out with an immunized ego.
Pain and grief were its gloomier recto
Endurance and determination were its verso.
As hate corrodes the vessel where it’s stored,
He’ll certainly harvest what he did sow.
I am an EFL high school teacher and an amateur poet writing especially Shakespearean sonnets. I have been writing poems over the last few which I am sharing on my page on facebook " https://www.facebook.com/groups/525342040861982/"