SONNET 99
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted.
~ Shakespeare, Sonnet 20
The woman who carried a crutch, the lion braves
a current dropped by heaven becomes, and a branch
For helping! Upon her those crutches swung and gave
Pass, herself flowers mild and gain for lion mane;
May strawberries the woman kept as her kept, strengths
Bouquets affiliate thy bounty, passion gazeth
Mere sunstroke tamed for untamed conceits held so lengths
These lives, a rooster, bulls, my sun aide, and incensed
Bile you sent blossoms signed, peaches, green symbols ground
Cow'ring thine courage find -- a flower, sunflowers!
Sliced tender history boldly, colorf'lly shrouds
Gold by want in dreams, may, sweet sleep, were yet abound
Like gold, when we chagrined to be peacock feathers:
Lush invisibil'ties, now fantasias weathered.
