Truncated Sonnet: ''A Sonnet Begets Life''
A Sonnet begets life.
Joy, her child, leaves her womb,
bliss that transcends the tomb
and dulls the Reaper's scythe!
Ah! Joy belittles strife;
delight, as from bedrooms
(without impassive gloom),
makes mother of a wife.
When bards compose, ardent
wax the virgin Sonnets
with their pens: eloquent
the more, beauty begets
desire; then makes pregnant
with Joy which ne'er forfeits.
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