Friday, 9 August 2013


(Another attempt at a Sonnet)

Blow thine kiss of love,
the breeze of my spring
The aspen can't long
to dance to your tunes...

As the cool of the morning dew
enter me as I bloom,
Raise me to Asphodel and
cleanse my beluted soul...

Let me be the thorn of protection,
for you are the flower of my evening
who gives the fruit of my morrow.

I will sleep through the night fall,
bearing the gift of all felicity
wake in your hands at every dawn.