Sonnet of Love Rekindled

Am I to rekindle love not gone out?

Would not something need to douse spirit first?

All three lots cast here leave no room for doubt

So who might dare speak, saying I am cursed?

For flame turns to charge, splits metal and brick

If words are hollow, how could they be mine?

Would not The Bard discern truth from a trick?

So loose the cannonballs and drink this wine

Solid ones know when to resign with grace

Pretenders most poorly missteps copy

"Run to the hills!" each shout, in mind a place

But find path back overgrown with poppy

Hollow or solid I dance space between

I *SNAP* o'er shoot, but my hat is still green