Sonnet 6

Should you look at those of wealth and power

and think of me as a man with riches shorn

know I prize the touch of springs first shower

and the songbird herald of breaking dawn.

Do not feel pity for one whose head sags

glimpsed at times labouring past your doors

for I shelter amidst the northern crags

that rest upon the rolling heathered moors.

I throw not the sweetest wine down my neck

or feast on food that makes the table groan

but sip Adam’s ale drawn from fairy beck

and eat that raised by these hands alone.

And I shall have lived that much I know

while he just existed in a life of show.


9 thoughts on “SONNET 6

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