Ye, Destiny, throw no random dice

Metals at rest as tend to rust, Love that latches on looks like lust, As diamonds get made from grey dust, Ye, Destiny, get deemed unjust. Yet, whatso lies idle would rust, Love lost of freedom looks like lust, Not just diamonds, world’s made from dust, We tend to forget fiery test! It might seem so, where’s unjust fate? Seeds sprout, aloud to say it all, Man reaps no more than sweat may let, Fruits, not before they ripen, fall. He starved of will and manful means, In grey envy tends to see greens. _________________________________________ Sonnets | 04.02.2007, revised May 2023|