Oh To Write
Oh, to write a sonnet on my one true light-o'-love,
to write a song to make the warbling sing -
a melody that to your eyes would bring
tears of fond remembrance for your own true well-thought-of.
Oh, to flood ravines with bursts of spring!
How do I employ the moon and stars in verse
and conjure with them messages to measure
the merit of the poet's brightest treasure
when I know not of love's allure nor passion to coerce?
How do I stir light from the obscure?
Oh, to etch a portrait of the one upon my pillow
with words that fall so sweetly on the ear
of him, with gentle soul who cares to hear
the moan of restless wind through pine and willow
or of me, a billow rising to my dear.
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