You thought my hands a paradox,
A metaphor for life that held
The universe and its mystery
But all it holds for me is you.
You think my eyes a window where
A vision of my soul has dwelled
To dance for you, but just as fair
To me they seem a frame for you.
You think yourself no great beauty
I think your darkling beauty plain,
But the beauty I love most in you
Is of that kind which does not wane.
I see you madly loving me,
You see yourself just knitting socks.

This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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