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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=573221" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 1.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=573221" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">When you have seen my music move the grass<br>where you have lain outside the willow’s shade<br>and heard the wind’s high-pitch descend to bass, <br>you stroll away into the dusk and fade. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=573221" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">You make me feel my music might contain, <br>a strophe or two of Dylan’s underground<br>that sheds no lasting light beyond a stain, <br>but rings a mellow bell of pleasing sound. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=573221" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">My strings lay still in hours that you sleep, <br>I watch your posture change a dozen times, <br>each twist and turn, a lyric, then I creep<br>away and put to paper - conjured rhymes.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=573221" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Some nights I dream my harp has lost its strings -<br>and you are dancing, showing off your wings.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Esmond+Jones">Esmond Jones</a></strong></div>

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