Sonnet № 131860
The nymph steals the farm-son
Before I captured you, you sought
meat and bread and peace.
My turnings bade you cease
seeking solitude that old life brought.
I swept the earth
stippling stubble in grooves
and chains of dance;
moved your heart to gambol,
stole you from your ramble,
melted you, stubborn man.
You spied my moves
and judged my worth,
left behind hoe and plow
and dwell with me, now.
11 comments
In the original you turned wooden, right? I think that would be better. The rest loses me. I don't know what distinction you're making between November and December (or heart and breast), and can't feel the metaphor of ghosts (which are essentially metaphors, no?) And are you lathing things into firewood? How odd.
and yes, i am lathing into firewood. i wonder if my love is wasted on him.
thank you for the compliment.
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