All English Sonnets
My palsied prose; defeated countenance
You feel and ask, “Do you live or just exist?”
My woes are countless and my grief immense,
And I will tell you if you so insist.
My each Endeavour with such fire was blessed,
That life a conflagration in true sense,
Did blaze and so lovingly possessed,
The art to grasp, delight in excellence.
But when so blazing, it extracts to price,
By testing all my hopes on burning embers
I rest behold! and see how in a trice
I flare when my mind, this thing remembers.
That I am not a cowering fugitive.
Now! do I just exist or I live?