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Sir Poet, Hold True To Thy Gifts Long Given


Sir poet, why hast thy broken thy true pen?
Are not thy words intended to help and heal?
Pray thee, returneth to world of gentle men,
Let both thy mind and fevered blood softly spill!

Sir poet, why hast thy burned thy greatest writes?
Are not thy word-gifts bearing much needed fruits?
Pray thee, this sad, dark world sees thy ink-bright lights,
Begs thy kind soul return to poetic roots!

Sir poet, write deep to heal thy wounded heart
Embrace yet again, thy soul's truest call to arms
Find thy calling, begin an earnest restart,
Seek thee to help not this rash act that so harms.

Sir poet, hold true to thy gifts long given
Join again, poet's rewards in true liven'.

R.J. Lindley
Sonnet (11)
Jan. 20th 1990

Syllables Per Line: 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 154
Total # Words: 122

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