If he, like I, whom view with dimming light:
The final setting sun within his glass...

Let he, whom in my kingdom, read here wise:
Your eyeslids best be closed when near my love...

Should I inform these pages of our bed?
Could words have words for what is most unsaid...

Doubt all my words,
create shadows behind thine actions...

It seems that the unborn
whom passed before birth...

A poet suffers for his part;
In penning that which stains his heart...

If dreaming paths the way to where you are
Then why has none to you, so taken me...

Wherein the haven, dwells my stillborn child?
The crib could not illumine gilt enough...

I wonder if an unusual flock of white crowned...
Were there that day, that fateful day...

Shall I exalt your grace as seasons bring?
In winter; you're a frosty glazed escape...

Shall I from heart reveal your grace in rhyme?
Your tenderness enthrals a love thought lost...

I must compare you to the spring in May!
You warmth a light too have my winter's done...