Sheltered from the Sun

If you saw my love, she is not the sun.
Her hair and eyes are dark as outer space,
although there is a twinkling bit of fun
that shows like stars within her eyes’ embrace.
And yet, she is not glory that hurts the eyes,
nor is she heat to dry the skin and parch
the tongue. She shall not coax a plant to rise
and grow into a wizened tree, a larch?
An oak? A yew, perhaps? But, no, not she
to be the center of a solar system,
giving life to all and boiling the sea
in time. She is a gentler light that limns
the edges of my clouds and shows the way
in life’s darkest nights and stormiest days.

This entry was posted on July 7, 2008 at 11:21 pm and is filed under English Sonnet, Iambic Pentameter. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.

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