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#4
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Sonnets Somehow I saw the coming of this day -
it wasn't really diff'rent from before -
I looked for something better anyway
and never won't be looking anymore.
I ask you: have I not presented oft
the face of one entreating your regard?
My voice a song, my cadence witty, soft;
is there some countenance that I have marred?
Perhaps we are but shortly to be reft
and never cross these winding youthful roads:
when you are nothing, what will you have left
but what you'd had when under lighter loads?
With no redemption given at your end,
are you so certain how your life should tend?
