Sonnet ii: Soigné
Twent' springs demise
Yet livin' on nature's lend
Nature beque't' not but tend
Racy your yout', riding on poor beauty' franch's'
Your dainty sight, a place whe'r' every eye dwe'l
As if to chant a spell
From your ripe breast fall and swell
I wonder beauty's ef'ect
If yours were bereft
Nor it, nor no embrace
Should the wor'd devoid y'ur sig't deface?
Then what to do has death?
When y'ur flowery yout' drowns in debt
As falter thee into ev'ry deep depth.
poem by Folayemi Akande
Added by Poetry Lover
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