Jealousy

Still at my horizon bounds

There silly you teased

It hurt better eerily to pounds

At most its face glazed

Torturously clean and swell

To perturb my turning heart

Is there such who remains?

Whose court with happiness May

 Profound as not to tell

When there is to envy like air

 If that person is and well

How come it be not me

It might well be me

Though my mind be greased

And plate with uncanny beasts

I shan’t be lured by my light

And any sense there of

I shall rock my cradle

With rhythms to my own content