sonnet 132 of 225 to my muse...



Sonnet 23/02/04                         DCCCLXXXII

My muse is blossom that grows without fail,
Though snow and ice keeps world from seeing flower.
She offers spring to dream, though outside hail
And bitter cold take place of April shower.
My muse is moonlight on a cloudy night,
A lamp to show dreams shelter, and the way
To warm and restful sleep. She gives me sight
Of hope, and heart's desire for which I pray.
My muse is balm to heal heart's hurts, and seal
Those open wounds that past has left to weep.
She shows reason that hope might let soul feel
That future will have spring, and dream to keep.
She is more precious than all I might own:
Yet all I hope is that she will dreams loan.