Then you ask a busy man.
That’s what this has wrought.
I find I’m able
To travel to my own world
Much more often now.
Then you ask a busy man.
That’s what this has wrought.
I find I’m able
To travel to my own world
Much more often now.
The second time she
asked me to write a sonnet,
this is what I wrote.
Everything I write
is for my wife. Has always
been. Shall ever be.
Everything I do,
my very life. As much hers
As it is for me.
Hers is every word
as I write, or as I read–
graphite, ink, or throat.
I think I may have gotten carried away there. So I might as well present in proper format all of the above.
Written in July of 2012. Does it count, or not?
Regard herein a little mystery
That maketh such an interest to see
Within resulting questions some degree.
In peace, my love, forever do I goe,
That blessed nectar I adored to seek,
That gave thee rest and ease in its mystique
That long ago hath poured and I bestow.
Take thou, my love, these tears that overflow
To quench thy soul; restored, do they forespeak
To thee; I shed them gladly, take my cheek
To drink–so blush, as though with wine aglow.
But soft, my sweet, and drink thou ever deep;
Breathe now the vapours of my soul–and heart:
Read thou its sonnets, and thou wilt mee know.
But peaceful, shall I lay thee down to sleep,
Bequeathing thee, when we awake, such art
And dance that from thy hearth shall never goe.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
In peace, I do go
That blessed nectar to seek
May it give you ease
My love, take these tears
To quench the thirst of your soul
I shed them in joy
But soft, and drink now
Breathe the vapours and know me
Read my heart’s message
In peace I sleep now
With joy I will awaken
I dance now at home
Remember thou, that shalt thou ‘ever be,
For all of time, mine angel, and my sweet
Respite, that cup for which my heart shall beat,
Superior in infinite degree
To all the finest grape, shall I decree,
May e’er become. And so shall I, replete,
Then worship from thine altar, at thy feet,
And pray that I shall ‘ever drink of thee.
So grant thou me, my sweetest love, this prayer,
And thenceforth shall I worship at thy shrine,
And never for thy succour shall despair
Within that safety, as our hearts entwine.
I’ll thenceforth drink of thee and then declare
That never shall, again, I want for wine.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Remember, thou shalt
forever be Mine Angel–
one superior
to all the grape is
able to be. And I shall
ever drink of thee,
sweetest, sweetest love;
and thenceforth I should never
again want for wine.