Sonnet 4

I know our passion is now forever lost.

Your fair heart taken by passing wan breeze

and left stranded on the cold brittle frost

that lays on braids of weeping willow trees.

Should I not gladden to see your face turn

to grant welcome to others who’s love comes,

though torn apart my soul with jealous burn,

I seek release from desire that still drums.

I look not at the pillows deep indent,

the down filled remnant of want once felt,

that reminds me of all that is now spent,

the yearning that with no alarm did melt.

Yet here you stand and grant me warm embrace

as towards me, once again turns your face.


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