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All English Sonnets


Time, Old hunter, dexterous and adroit;
Like raw novices does not run or rush,
But stalks the prey with patience. On the quiet,
It moves and finds it huddles in the bush.

The prey, oblivious of approaching doom-
Thus hides and feels from danger safe and sound;
And likewise humans, when in limited room
Of understanding, complacency bound

Forget this wily hunter, who his self
has noiseless made to catch them unaware.
He finds them easy prey, engaged in pelf
And petty squabbles over land and ware.

It noiseless, deathless , endless, quietly moves-
In plains and deserts on pre-destined groves.


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