Man of the world, a rare bird still

Out in this vain world, treading my lone trail, I fall, find feet, firm up my feeble stake, And try again a better me to make, In marketplace but never once for sale. With enough love in heart for all to draw, An avid pond I am, no settled lake Content with scarce, no world breeze can me shake-- A pond, never of a huge oceans’ awe. In this world vying daily with new breeze, I just try-- be a man made but by me-- A task no simple still to turn with ease, So, it’s fair to feel way-lost in the sea, Come forward then, wish wind-speed to my sail, To help me sail to my least-trodden trail. ____________________________________ Sonnet | 03.12.2004, revised September 2024|self, world