by Luis G. Dato
A century of yearnings, fractured dreams,
A hundred years of tears shed and unshed,
That in my pain I wished I had been dead,
But still to live, to stray ‘neath Cynthia’s beams
Or hear the murmur of the pleasant stream
Whose banks I sought in just the barest shred
Of hope that you your haunts have visited,
And in your heart some throb of light still gleams.
One century! and what’s a hundred years
In the long stretch of unrecorded time?
I taste the pungent salt of bitter tears,
But still pursue your vision so sublime,
And in these sonnets if your name appears,
Remember always — love lives in each rhyme.
