New Sonnet 4 'Unlike a Spurgeon, I by dull words unfold'

Unlike a Spurgeon, I by dull words unfold The limits of my Sarah's love for me, But I realize that the rot and stink and mold Are all within my mind, beneath my See. There is no other person who can love For me. It is my duty and my joy. It is the Truth that True Love is made of It is the difference of man from a boy. I am no counter of the counterfeits That weigh love by the dram of sweet words said, But rather, I am one who from above Receives the gifts whereby he bakes his bread. Into the practical and humble things I'll pour my Constancy and give love wings.