sonnet 193 of 238 to my muse...


Sonnet 28/10/04                           CMXLVIII

Perhaps muse is less than she seems, but I
Can see no flaws, in eyes, or smile, or face.
Her soul gives heart reason to care: So why
Would I want someone else to take her place?
Perhaps she is not what I see, the source
Of inspiration that gives all my dreams.
But why, then, does absence give such remorse,
And to be close is goal of all my schemes?
I weep, to not be there when my muse cries,
To have no way to comfort her, or hold
This woman in my arms, and look at eyes
That fill my dreams, and my soul's core enfold.
If she must weep, might I brush tears away,
And give kiss for each one, to sorrows slay?