My heart it beateth with an odd passion
When traveling my darling's gaze within.
Her stare doth strike me in an odd fashion;
Her fingertips are like the northern wind.
To just be in her close proximity
Is chilling to the bone. I hate the cold
But love the chills. The muse, my diety,
Adoreth my ironic story told.
I see the blushing tulip in her cheeks,
The cool and windswept lily in her flesh,
And from her bosom sweet emotion reeks.
In her, my follied heart mayeth start afresh.
Though on her beauty's highlands I'll not roam,
I stand content to sail her salty foam.
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Comments
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Great job!!! I do so enjoy reading your sonnets. I love the word choice and imagery in this one!
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