Summer's Malady

You saw my soul was sick, but did not leave

You let it writhe and listened to it whine

But like summer’s light asked for no reprieve,

Letting your balms with my illness align.

Yet its cause could you ever really quell?

Affection has wrought it, you are its source

And with your cure my pain runs parallel,

Tracing a seemingly uncertain course.

If I am to be yours I must have worth

Or nature could never condone our bond.

This mandate forces a trying rebirth

And commands my maladies to abscond.

In sickness health will find its expression

And jealousy a better profession.