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All English Sonnets


The murmurings of my conscience are insistent.
Like midday summer bees lazily hum,
And fly around so blithe and lissome,
But always single- minded and consistent.

The earnings and gleanings of my life,
Are denigrated. Hands , full of profit,
Which, I acquired by waging endless strife,
And warmth consequently coming of it,

Are by my conscience meaningless proclaimed,
And many are the ills, by it named.
It tells me, in the evening of my days,
I can be like bees, if I listen,

And if I in His brilliance bask and glisten,
Then He is bound to pardon my delays.

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