What is love’s greatness that warrants such praise
In verse immortal and shared by all hearts?
Have we begun to understand her ways
Or have we merely clouded her name in art?
We cannot define her, yet her pain we know
And then in our bitterness we deny her;
We name her folly, deciet, and reason’s foe
But who can resist when new passions stir?
Love, you are every part a mystery
And while no minion can deny you
Niether can we with any firmness be
Assured that you not unreal or untrue;
But perhaps the very essence of your glory
Is the beauty of that eternal mystery.

January 7, 2005

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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