Saturday, November 21, 2009

Sonnet 7

I long to be your shelter from the storm
Although this world is cold,
My love will serve to keep you warm.
If you are young, then I am old
But every poet needs a muse
I am still the maiden to your hunter
Your loving heart, I won’t abuse
I the Goddess to your sun, your punter
When the heat of living is too much
I am the vengeful crone
I will smite any who say such--
As to make you sad, you’re not alone.
My words feel inspired,
In writer’s block I’m no longer mired.

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