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Sonnet 20
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My love buried, broken and encumber’d
From disuse and neglect – I’d long forgot
Or even spoken of that muse – had brought
Me naught but pain. Rejected unnumber’d
Times, its ill effect upon my mood
Left me distrustful, sullen and jaded
At the thought of new beginnings. Faded
Was the image I’d traced for years. I’d brood
No more on past wounds and hurt pride, but live
In solitary contemplation, trust
No more faint promises of hope, let rust
My edge. After love I’d no longer strive.
And in a couplet’s sudden space you burst
Grace made you my best love, I your first.
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