You are always clad in something red.

Your eyes are as playful as water.

However, you are serious instead,

And you're old enough that I could be your daughter.

Sometimes you make me want to laugh,

And others I want to die.

You have a way of arousing my wrath,

But, when you leave, you make me cry.

I, for once, don't know what to do:

I'm torn between logic and admiration.

My heart tells me that I can love you,

But my head blocks emotion with work as compensation.

I can't have you (because of my employment),

But does work mean that I can't savor enjoyment?



-~-~-~-~-~-

It's so difficult to rhyme sometimes, but sonnets rhyme! *sigh* I'm pretty sure than the count is off to make this a proper English sonnet, so that's why I titled it "Meryl's Sonnet." Meryl doesn't always go by the book, though she makes people think she does. It's a bit crazy. I know, I know – You're probably all sick of my poetry. It's just difficult for me to write a continuation of Trigun when I can't think of anything to continue with. (I'm lying, seeing as how I'm in the middle of writing the next "episode.")