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All English Sonnets


Loving doesn’t impoverish the lovers,
And whatever He takes, He restores-
Through hamlet, jungle, snake, wind, the rivers,
But finally end up at His pious door.

Then through the rays of sun lifts them up,
Sends the clouds on all compassing tours,
To fill up every empty thirsty cup,
To water all the hovels and the shores.

The wandering souls which go from birth to birth,
Are all according to the ancient lore,
His debts to living things on this Earth,
Which He into the lifeless body pours.

His countless little parts Headily scatters,
But to His endless store nothing matters.

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