SONNET 1
Every man drowned in deep contemplation
Perceives the world as part his own creation.
Nothing can outrun the clock’s relentless tick,
Nor life control what death shall next pick
But wit applied can soon buy us an hour
To say a prayer, or bequeath our power,
And embrace the bright light without a fight.
Rejoice, for sweet death is the end of life!
Man’s conceived in darkness but dies in light
To suffer neither toil nor earth’s rife strife.
They leave lives un-lived those afraid of death
Gasping, savouring not their pure final breath:
Live, love, share and care, touch and kiss
For beyond the grave there is no such bliss.
