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Sonnet 03/12/03                           DCCCLXIV

A chill wind and dark clouds above feed fears
I cannot change my fate. Shall I now weep,
That soul is tired? What value have my tears,
That sorrow might gain more than my hopes keep?
Thought of you offers joy, but can I bear
To dream, knowing you deserve something real?
Words are poor gift, to prove to you I care,
When you give vision life, and my hopes heal.
I have no way to hold you, nor to make
You tea, to warm your lips. What can I send
To keep you from the cold? Can desires take
The place of touch, to share what passions lend?
You are my muse, and give to me my art:
All I can offer in return is heart.