Sonnet II

Written before I payed attention to meter.

Oh land of youth I miss thee so,

That virgin beach no footfall knew,

Before thy sands let me bestow,

My idle thanks which grew into,

Relentless waves of innocent folly,

That drew your silt betimes of yore,

From whence the tides of melancholy,

Shaped her face upon thy shore.

Now the staggered footing bereft,

Upon this cliff above the ocean,

Leaves unwonted clinging to cleft,

Of my never dwindling devotion,

To meet the sea's beating hands,

Unbowed to the last of my stands.

3/4/2008 7:18:22 PM