I have presumed and wrote, that heaven's guard
would greet and welcome me, when age had won
but if that golden staff would wave me barred,
what fault had I, to just - my soul outdone?

Would my offense be matters scaled with love
for deep into the past's of May; love cried
when angels swept her past the clouds above,
and only Spring this year, had love retried.

Ah, could my newer flame have burned the seers;
for hearted vows, in death could still ordain,
if fallen whispers grieve in angel ears;
that promised - only she, in love would reign.

O' parted love, weep not, that heaven's bless!
Tho' love here changed, means not - our love is less.

How do I write of love, unlike before?
Have bards of old then dripped and dried all pens
that none a phrase nor sequence left to roar,
my hearted themes then blind to any lens.

Should I then rhyme and pray my wit appear
to scheme a love no sonnet, dare have done,
for those who seek to read what love is here
and touch an essence tho'; anew had won.

But if my page imprints a loving new
have I deprived a future poet's scheme
that he be lost, as I am now with rue,
that works, tho' felt, another may beseem.

But love, is love, no other word can meet,
and if that love his own, none can defeat.

A lover's garden is - a budding maze
that grows from sprouting seedlings 'neath the sleet
as mirth for spring outdone the frosty glaze,
and stems to touch unveil with flowered greet.

The blossom heads imbue the wealth within
to splay a redden zeal, or blue of truth
or white as pure, but darker shades can win
tho' hue can glow, it could then bring untruth.

For beds of flowers thorn and sharply *****,
to walk the floral beat; some planter's bleed,
the dripping stains, and petal leaves unpick
But if the bristly spines grew true, proceed.

A lover's world can grow an Eden's yard
tho' if from brittle make, then prune on guard.

If love were formed and rendered by a God
then dearest lover, blessed have you been
for he, or she, with wand had also ****
and touched upon your cast, a beauty's sheen.

Exquisite works that I so marvel oft
as other Gods, like that whom rules the sun;
had sought to bind such glow, with light aloft,
and nightly moons, into your eyes, have won.

Your love, and God thereof, have greater worth
as love has pierced within and won my mold
residing deep, into my source of mirth,
that if no love, let Gods alike withhold.

As love that truest, must be dreamed above,
there's only one such power; God of love.

Tho' modern pen has lost a cursive touch
and words archaic; poet's old cliches,
electric type has still the phrase to clutch
and render beauty's make through sonnet praise.

Have I then prompt to key my quill to prove
iambic worth has ink for grace so rare?
Tho' words cannot do just, nor then improve
but page her beaut for those that cannot stare.

A lady's fair in metered writ, romance!
And have so in; revered poems of old
now newer peach must too afford a chance
to muse a bard, that none her flair withhold.

Let modern sonnet's ode new blush to art!
And tho' from present phrase, they still impart.

Remember me in spring when blossom's blush
and petals flair a - light in morning mists
that'll haze a rainbow hue - of flowered plush
to portrait mine as every bud untwists.

Upon the birding bath as robins splay
the warbling chirp shall voice as tho' from me
for you my sweet, in springtime bloom of may
shall hear the larking flute of my decree.

The dancing leaves shall tap and Ivy's birth
and Snowdrop's bow as daisy eyes unveils
as fragrant, olive air shall scent of mirth
that once were lost, now shrines as spring prevails.

Vernal rebloom shall stream that pulse of mine
then seek that earthly glow, and there I'll shine.

Am I alike a yoyo? Stringed and thrown
by knots around my hearted centre piece
to spin a course that's set, not by my own
but from unhappy masters, bored to cease.

Contently turning mind and heart abound,
to speed the limit, then return the aim
as tho' my thoughts of change and love rebound
within complacent discs, that they reclaim.

Life seems to whirl me like a yoyo trick
complexed entwining threads that then unfurl
to only then again with just a flick
have spun me dazed, bemused within the twirl.

I'm tied to play, confined within the same
tho' end it will, is that another game?