Monday, June 4, 2018


I’m on my way and shall not stop until
I’ve filled this sonnet’s form right to the end.
Following the pattern that great Will
Shakespeare preferred, with help my Muse may lend,
And, if I may, I’ll make a tour de force
A sonnet that’s a single sentence long
Yet seems completely uncontrived, unforced,
As in the dawn you hear a robin‘s song
That thrills you with commodious melody
And leaves you then inspired to try your own
In emulation of that prodigy,
Hoping you may indeed usurp its throne
     Proving yourself as skillful as the Bard
     By making something difficult seem not hard.


If this were the last sonnet that I write—
Fear not, since that is surely not the case—
What would I say, perhaps to give insight
Into what I experience as Grace
When I sit down to muse and to compose
And out of nowhere notions start to flow
And, if I’m patient, take me to its close
Where I discover what I did not know
When I began, which leaves me feeling blessed
And wondering what Providence prevails,
As if I were by grace itself possessed
That brings such new creation into being
     In imitation of its holy ways,
     That Source which warrants our eternal praise.