Sonnet II

The light removed foretells the winter’s cold,

leaving barren, bitter the soul that weeps;

and black is night when o’er me it takes hold,

with naught but my mem’ries and dreams to keep.

There’s only now the fading light of love

now dying slowly like the summer flame,

to give me hope that my treasured white dove

will find her peace and remember warm days.

But waiting, waiting ever shall I be

for light’s return and summer’s golden rays,

looking for hope in the coming of spring,

and the cleansing of sins in April rains.

For now the grey of winter grips the land,

and I watch helpless as love slips my hand.

 

 

The Muse weighs heavy on me tonight.