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Sonnet 24/02/03                        DCCXCI

How shall I invocation to you start?
Rebecca, dryad of the wild wood rose,
Pushing past snow to sun, with care that shows
Concern for all around, and open heart,
Lend me the words to place within my art:
I ask that you hopes for the spring inspire,
That I may be worthy of my desire.
Yet, dreams are but of my verse only part.
How might I tell how your soft words reach in
My heart, and give reason to dream? They form
Frame I dress with imagination: All
That I build depends on what I might win
Of your concerns. I read lines, and find warm
And light: That is why I must to you call.