SONNET 841
By JH Sayyar
O gentle Love, whose breath wild winds bear,
Whose whispers stir leaves with soft caress?
Thou walk in fields, in mountains high and fair,
And robe the woods in verdant loveliness.
Thy voice is heard in every babbling stream,
In rustling reeds, in birds that sweetly sing,
Thou paint skies with morning’s golden gleam,
And kiss the earth in every blossoming.
When man forgets peace thy hands bestow,
And paves meads with walls of stone and steel,
Still dost thou bloom where silent rivers flow?
And through the cracks thy quiet truths reveal.
O Nature’s Love, eternal, pure, and wise—
Thy beauty teaches hearts where true joy lies.
0 Comments