SONNET 330
By JH Sayyar
Sex, life root, a few know it well,
Sex, a vital force to produce a print,
Your beauty unused I call it a hell,
If use;
your beauty, a beauty mint,
You jealous of your being, not leave,
Your print behind; your cute face,
Shines here your eyes not heave,
A sigh, leave behind a cute race
Your thought, unkind to you, why?
Think, O Rose, your unused beauty,
Will enter into the grave with lie,
My pen hails you my moral duty,
When your beauty enters in grave,
People forget, my verses you, save.
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