A sonnet to Lost Love


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What must thou do when love is truly lost?

Speed onwards, hast’ning on to catch it up?

Or stand, forlorn, watch it become a ghost,

knowing from it you can no longer sup?

Aye, to love and feel loss is seen as right

Better that than ne’er to be Venus blest;

Yet the pain of the first is a heart’s blight

The second makes you know true loneliness.

Love, once tasted, is a craven potion

That you always desire with open arms

Rushing along in the false-won notion

That your Lover, your troubles, always calms.

Oh fickle Venus, burn your son’s sharp arrows

And take away Love, leave us to our sorrows.

Kind Regards

travelswithadiplomat



Categories: Poetry

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