Sonnet 1


What beauty lies to find in nature’s sky?

Your hair so bright just as the golden sun,

And gaze at heaven’s blue star in your eye;

Make little of me that my love is none.

For you contain a hundred passes wild,

And nature is predictable when cold;

This separates man from organic tile,

Bind beauty, mood, and soul to life from mold.

I dare not write you as a silent hill,

Way, pasture, lake or beautiful spring day;

A summer lies where raging rivers fill

Your quiet, brooding heart holds winter’s May.

Let poets write their naturistic state;

May she who lives be called my human mate.


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