I do not speak of new love, though it be
The favourite food of poets down the years:
Small wonder, for it comes so easily –
The stolen glances, furtive kisses, tears
Of tender souls just started down the path
That leads through trial today to bright tomorrows;
The jealously and joy, regret and wrath
Of hurting hearts, long leavings and sweet sorrows.
No. I will speak of love that, summer-born,
Has lived through many winters – love grown strong,
Deep-rooted and protective as the thorn,
Enduring as the earth, sure as a song.
Such love stands when all else is overthrown.
The only certainty I’ve ever known.


10 thoughts on “Sonnet

    • Thanks you, Ina – I know traditional forms like the sonnet are deeply unfashionable these days, but I think it’s important that, as poets, we practise our craft (even if only occasionally!) and keep the old ways alive – as you do with your excellent villanelles.

  1. The Shakespearian sonnet is such a beautiful form for a love poem and this is beautifully done.

    I love the contrast you have drawn and can only conclude by thinking you are a lucky man


    • Thank you David – and yes, I am. I enjoy writing more ‘formal’ verse from time to time; it keeps the writing muscles toned up, and makes it easier to say things I want to say, but don’t always know how.

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