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Sonnet 06/11/02                         DCCLXIV

I cannot match the gems that nature gives,
With frost on trees, and stars set into sky;
Nor can my words capture the shade that lives
Upon blossom, or lips, though they may try.
I cannot keep from dreaming of your eyes,
Thinking of smile, and hoping for your touch.
How can I ask desires? Are my dreams ties
To future, or illusion? Does heart dreams clutch?
I cannot leave unsaid my dreams of muse,
That you are now the center of all thought.
Yet, words do not tell all heart thinks it views:
All of my lines have not this vision caught.
You are dryad, and forest muse, and yet,
I would far more than laurel on brow set.