Still Thy Sons
Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #55
Published on July 2, 2021
Still Thy Sons
Sonnet — An Invocation to The Master #55
Of all Thy makes costly and resplendent,
Of all Thy produce rich and fecund,
Why I Thy attempt at impoverishment,
Scoring me at par with the mud!
The simple prize of my heart is
For Thee guarded from the world,
Yet to me Thou doth ever miss
A single ray of Thy wholesome thousand.
What old feud of ours lives in memory
Like a shrivelled scar of an old wound
That pauses Thy hand deliberately
From conferring me all that is sound.
Oh keep us not to the petty ways,
For we, though vagrant, stay still Thy sons.