Sonnet 16 - Words

Words are wondrous to me. Malleable,
they twist and stretch and bend to fit any
need. Properly met in verse, they’re able
to inspire, embitter, delight, deny.

Some are stillborn – such verses will not stride,
cannot speak to any heart. Though conceived
with care, sent forth with beggared father’s pride,
they have no spark and cannot be received.

Others, now, will wind their way down to deep,
darkened places where they arouse ardor,
embolden lovers, bid ill-used dreams sleep.
You are far more wondrous to me, greater

in glory, than any verse. Words are what
I’m given, though, to share my love, my heart.