SONNET 118
By JH Sayyar
My Fair’s tongue sharper than a sword,
My Mistress’s voice soft than a rose,
Your bad behavior may not be cured,
On advising you but you surely pose,
Her coral breasts shine in the dark,
Pink dimples fascinate poor hearts,
As cuckoos lured by the rose in a park,
My heart cleaves when she sets apart
Your eyes tease and snatch my respite,
I see your holy image in the sunbeams,
Looking at your beauty fails soul might,
Now I die in your notions me seems!!
Your pretty face; a pixy on this earth,
I love you more since your cruel birth
0 Comments