Nonsense In Sonnet Form
Oh that in truth I might report to thee
a love that swells and rages like the sea.
Forsooth I state this missive as a plea,
that thou not turn thy face away from me.
A noble spirit takes not any glee
in knowing that within it holds a key;
this wounded heart can never now be free
excepting by the words of thy decree.
Oh let it be, that I from thee might flee
not like a bee, that darts beneath a tree
too blind to see, who bends upon one knee
to pay his fee; annoying little flea!
My ramble run, the end is all agley,
mayhap I should inquire dost thou agree?
Copyright © Keith Logan | Year Posted 2016
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