from sonnet(s)

1 November 2016

desire
rose
by
memory
contracted
with
a
sweet
thou
the
content
in
this
grave

called
so
those
poor
pictures
flow
our
bones
desperate
with
charms
and
past
death

rich
thriving
and
a
heaven
told
some
take
birth
accordingly
and
mirth
of
suit

consider
days
to
soul
serve
returning
light
patience
that
man’s
yoke
is
without
wait

thou
the
radiant
and
the
curtains
that
let
silence
wash
the
glares
of
influence

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