My first sonnet
By JoffreEssley
Where smiles go when last they leave their perch, or hope, when last it leaves the ghost to die, know I not, yet vainly I'd go in search through all the thickets of despair, if I could penetrate the fog enshrouded night of your unhappiness, and pierce it through with some taper that would reveal your plight, or, flickering, show the way the ill-wind blew. Then would I track them down through bog and mire and trap them with a love red rose for bait. If the bone-chilling mud yet made me tire visions of your coming cheer would let me keep the wait.. Should still the hunted prove wary at the faintness of the red I'd prick my heart, and bleeding, bathe the rose in all I bled Written December 7th, 2001 © on Dec 07 2001 08:52 AM PST 0 • 8
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"Where smiles go when last they leave their perch,..."