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.
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).
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