“With apologies to Shakespeare, whose sonnet sequence of 136 sonnets is exceeded (quantitatively, that is) by the present” — Luis G. Dato
by Luis G. Dato
A bard I am who comradeless the way
Rewander with a sigh within my song
Viewing a world of mingled grief and wrong,
Where Memory clouds the dawning of the day;
I am who images of Beauty paint,
Only to find the fairest of the false,
Soul powerless, who hears the blissful calls
Of higher joys, and only sighs complaint:
My lyre a deeper melody will claim,
My songs in your own heart an echo find,
The fancies habiting my gloomy mind
In your own mind behold its other frame,
For I am as the forest of the wind,
Echoing in song the tempest whence I came.
