Saturday, January 15, 2011


Whither find I the dawn

To dreams I see obscure

Of fate that I may own

My thoughts did long venture

The boast of opulence

On earth the greatest joy

And fountain of much sins

We welcome or endure

To naught sans recompense

Which mortals can deploy.

But sure I of His pure

And keen intelligence

That showers to him peace

Who holds faith in His Grace.

1 comment:

  1. This piece, a putative sonnet, was one of the meager relics of my first attempts at writing poetry. It was published in the Poetry section of The Cab Farmer, the high school publication which I had the honor of being the editor-in-chief during my senior year in high school (1961-62).