Poem – A Sonnet 

WEEPING, murmuring, complaining,
Lost to every gay delight;

MYRA, too sincere for feigning,

Fears th’ approaching bridal night.
Yet, why impair thy bright perfection? 

Or dim thy beauty with a tear?

Had MYRA followed my direction,

She long had wanted cause of fear. 

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.