There is a desert that has not seen rain
For four-hundred years — in some places more!
If rain fell across this barren domain,
Its happiness could never claim to soar
Above my own if thy presence I owned
With the love I hold for thee requited;
Thy absence is as much to me bemoaned
As that desert’s thirst however blighted.
Leave me not, least I dry up without thee,
For thou art my sweet succour and relief
From life like that dead pit in misery
As a day without thee is worth in grief
To all a desert’s years bereft of life
And so may last until thou art my wife.

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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