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Sonnet- XVII
 
Deep green, the laurels of thy being queen
Surrounded by sweet incense from the scent—
Of long lost manuscript that can't be seen
By given sight, in plight is where I spent
Thro’ my devotion unto thee, must gain—
Such trust! To reconcile to what we've sworn.
Afore the eyes of God, we must obtain—
Those precious rings; shall then again reborn.
And if my great election guides me through
The things I’d pray'd beneath the heaven's gate!
Shall tolerate myself to what is true?
O fill'd my soul with faith to thee I’ll wait.
Forgotten may it seems, but it won’t die—
Thro' certainty there’s virtue to rely.

By amberdusk

© 2019 amberdusk (All rights reserved)

 

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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The WORD PAINTING Challenge with elianna (Ann) read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The WORD PAINTING Challenge with elianna (Ann) read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The WORD PAINTING Challenge with elianna (Ann) read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


This Poem is part of a Challenge: - The WORD PAINTING Challenge with elianna (Ann) read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)


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