Dear Duckboots,
This is of no use, unless you think that having a poem about something is better than not having one about something. From Willie Blake, 1760's:
THE SICK ROSE

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
- William Blake.