The Four Seasons: Petrarchan Sonnet
Spring: Of Renewal
This heart of mine races, o silent one;
the twilight glitter shines light in the sky
as I recount my dreams, soon real, and my
hands rest soft as soon I trail with the sun.
The one, though, wary as if to poke fun
by shying away from the spring, a lie
or truth I know, this thought to rectify
if all to do has or hasn't been done.
Reassured by your familiar face
though memory serves to shake my frail bones,
I patiently await my love's reply.
Mocking laughter serves to make my heart race,
That man and my wife murmur in sad tones,
Your answer in my disappointed sigh.