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Sonnet 25/05/03                            DCCCXXIII

I have but lifetime to write of my muse:
Not long enough, by far, to tell my dream.
Each moment, though, is precious: Heart must choose
How to show feelings, and not foolish seem.
I have my wit and words to tell desire,
But hesitate to all my wishes write.
Should I ask for passion, when muse might tire
Of one worn down by years? Yet, dreams are bright.
I have only poor heart to give, though prize
My muse above the stars: She is the light
That visions show. I seek for dawn in eyes:
How can I hope that dreams might hold heart tight?
I feel the press of time, but seek to show
How much my muse gives hope, to make life grow.