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. . . Sonnet 167
Black colors my days, it's a waste of night,
It darkened raiments, the cloak of my heart,
For love has dimmed, the bright days seemed in blight,
Its dark hues tint, even dreams that depart;
Yet, there can't be a picture without shades,
No returns to wait, if you did not leave,
And with much exposure, novelty fades,
Makes your absence, bit easier to bereave;
Life is not all garden where roses grow,
For with it thrive the weeds which cause the pain,
And mark, that blue skies make not the rainbow,
It's the sunshine, with some help from the rain;
........Let my bright days be rained by your coming,
........If that assures rainbows will be showing.
.
.
.
. . . Sonnet 167
Black colors my days, it's a waste of night,
It darkened raiments, the cloak of my heart,
For love has dimmed, the bright days seemed in blight,
Its dark hues tint, even dreams that depart;
Yet, there can't be a picture without shades,
No returns to wait, if you did not leave,
And with much exposure, novelty fades,
Makes your absence, bit easier to bereave;
Life is not all garden where roses grow,
For with it thrive the weeds which cause the pain,
And mark, that blue skies make not the rainbow,
It's the sunshine, with some help from the rain;
........Let my bright days be rained by your coming,
........If that assures rainbows will be showing.
.
.