Halt, Who Comes..
Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #34
Halt, who comes in moments smile bearing,
A gaudy scent daubed for some low allure,
Masking betrayals with trinket of pleasure,
Away villain, bearer of duplicity conniving.
Who dispatched thee on this enterprise,
This devious game to pierce the fallen?
Dost thou box our each pitiable groan
And replay it for pleasure of pitiless ears?
Does He sneer, lips take a dagger’s curve
Savouring our anguish, kneading our lives
For a forbidden wine of the hell-grapes,
The basest yield that night doth have?
Linger then, gather a full bushel of our woes,
Ferment our plight for His choicest yields.