#5 (“I love thee so, dear Paul. . .”)

 

                        I love thee so, dear Paul, my lover sweet.

                        N’er go from eyesight mine, but love onward

                        In this, the era new, with love so deep,

                        And true, that poetry of’t I, the Bard

                        In our own little world might sing your praise

                        With heartfelt truth and joy that n’er doth end.

                        On Sunday morn I do love so that daze

                        O’ercomes, and body, soul of’t do seem rend’.

                        My Sweet, my love, fore’er my mate this life,

                        Accept my praise with joy that n’er doth end.

                        Our lives as one doth seem v’ry warm, rife

                        With fondness full—n’er far from thee, me send.

                                    With love so great may we spend eons One

                                    My sonnets tell our tale n’er to be done.

 

1/1/2000

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