Sonnet 116 To a Special Friend
Alas, sweet youth near half my age in yearshow oft I want but dare not sing your praise
beyond what words bring sad and joyful tears
to eyes that see through mine, reflective gaze.
I watched you grow through perfect sonnet form
to flow through verses free from all restraint
while plying playful figures, writing norm
with words with music's color sing and paint.
Sweet Muse, so long as you do not despair,
there always reaches out this helping voice
mine old and rough, yours delicate and fair,
yet both with words of loving verse rejoice.
Though oft I read your words and silent sigh
with dreams you meant to start with: You and I. . .
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 487 times
Written on 2007-03-15 at 02:24
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Janine>K |