"sonnet61"
a blossom closed upon its bud
`twas pierced with thorn from dragon's blood
in blood and tear his blouse was stained
not with chained heart but blue of vein,
criss cross the bridge away and near
the bloom will rise despite its fear
its cause when to the edge will space
the lace now nude as its disgraced,
a cup of shame consumes the air
he twists the barb as she makes prayer,
in love's discord their wings do beat
his word on fire, the bloom so sweet;
like thorn, a rose to master serves
each two in circle as it curves.
for Sahib
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
10sept12
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