Sonnet No 1
Tomorrow you'll lay sick with penniless death,
The beauty of now is tomorrow's decay,
Your satin white voice grimly echoes in grey,
You'll know not my name before your final breath.
Alone with you stranger I'll find what's ahead,
To you I'll give all, while you'll spit in my face,
My family, friends will receive my disgrace,
And I'll seat alone eating moldy old bread.
If that be the future, if that be your name,
I still say I love you; I'll take you the same,
For I welcome hell for a moment with you.
All flowers I give you that'll bloom in my life,
I kneel and propose you: » Will you be my wife? «
And if you take creature, please whisper: »I do. «
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