Sonnet # 155
How oft I rise to peek mine eyes
To see are they yet a’bloom?
The Queens of late Spring, early June,
A Masquerade unfolds
Trumpet-like an orchestra
Ornate canopies assume
The Genus of my Peonies
Lies in their sweet perfume
Never were such blooms so bold
Flirtatiously adorned in Pink
They blush the morn’ away; they say
T’is better a short span lived
Dancing in the morning light
Ruffles catch admiring eye
T’is the crowning of the summer
When our ladies must say goodbye
Bowing low a last chorale
A shadow veils their fate
Eternal beauty evades our glance
Alas it’s much too late
Sunlight dims, nature’s curtains close
Evening turns the key
How swiftly life passes by to say
Wait not in vain for me
The buds of May were sent to thee
In passages of time
To behold anew before thy season is through
The unfolding of the Divine