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Sunday, May 20, 2007

A Sonnet: An Unusual Colour: Sangria

Let my reminiscence not wilt with time,
For then my soul shall bleed tears of sorrow,
Give me a moment not worth you a dime
To describe this love no one need borrow.

As if time and wealth are of unknown myths
Perched on the rusty swing two of us sit
His rough hand in mine, my soft hand in his
Like a well-made glove and a hand, we fit.

Rays of the evening sun shine scenically
Accentuating his sinewy good looks
Painting our portrait of destiny
Wooing a romance out from its torn books.

Love shall withstand bloody dangers of time
If this not be love, I would now be rime.

By Bi

Blogged @ 7:08 PM
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