Sons As Us
Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #3
Published on June 21, 2022
Sons As Us
Sonnet — Daily Poetry for The Master of Works #3
Does it glut Thee, the fervourless flames
Lit by the hands of old received habit,
Doest it singe, the lay pungent incense
From smoked pith, the ashes’ debt?
Who bringest Thee worship robust and full,
As when world was young and men as gods
Where every gesture was natively noble
And mortal air teemed with the stainless?
Who builds Thee a monument a day
And marks the frieze for Thy name alone,
Who solicits in twilight Thy muse’s ray
To shield Thee from the dull and mundane?
Oh, it is but Thee who for Thyself scripts
Such incorrigible yet faithful sons as us!