“I gaze upon thy paled face
Soon to be entombed in somnolence divine,
O that the knobbed fingers of Death did ever embrace thy soule
And caress thy beauteous form to nature!
I cannot strew thy grave with fragrant petals,
O my love.
For thou encoffin’d and embalmed
In satin shrouds are not to me beloved”
If you’re good, I’ll give you another verse next week. Or would you prefer a couple of lines from “I breathe Byron”?
on 05 February 2005 at 17:46
That’s very, ummm, sonnetty.
on 06 February 2005 at 20:26
ChaOtic, too much effort…
FT, um, yes.
on 07 February 2005 at 16:21
I especially like the ‘knobbed fingers of death’.
And ‘thy paled face’- oooh – new word!
The sentiment is wonderful – ‘I don’t love you now you’re dead’.
on 12 February 2005 at 15:42
Well, we’ll see…