The lane way,
Making passers-by lethargic,
Thorns which maim the heart.

Felling liken morose,
Causing pandemonium,
Tho to the heart.

A science itself,
But flout the law,
Idiosyncratic? sure as fate.

Love is the credence,
Grueling arranged bravely,
Like grove of trees.

Love is blameless,
Thinking of who, who?
Lovers? mayhaps.

A glimpse of fact,
Change a diabolical devise,
Which consecrate eyes of beholder.

© Isa Salisu