All English Sonnets
I gave you up to now, only dreams
And tried to give you wings to reach the crest.
But all the soaring hopes, lofty schemes,
Have failed to help me build a cozy nest .
The hopelessness and helplessness it seems,
Has leeched on to my psyche like a pest,
And stalled the meaning of all themes,
Depriving me of mirth and Ruth and rest.
My ferries for your sake , all my quest,
And all my wordy hyperbolic hymns,
Are like a bush of thorns in my breast.
Useless paper neatly stocked in reams.
I have no doubt that I have failed the test,
But is worst, that-I feel, I did my best.