Old Squabbles
Published in
Mar 14
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Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #71
Bear not bitterness of old squabbles
Born when soul naive-gazed and young
With stumbling tottering excess
Clutched like a toddler shining wrong!
Nurse not the remembrance of quarrels,
Vain disputation by my ignorance caused,
Now shining darkly in vault of memories
Like a dire black pearl in Thy offended mind!
Wert Thou affronted by my touch cold
When I bowed and held Thy feet,
Arriving to Thy chamber utterly paupered
By warmth wasted in the vain twilight?
But didst Thou not see, when the prancings were done,
I cried alone, “O Beloved, my Beloved, I know not how Thou art to be won!”?
