| Sonnet No. 1 |
| Upon a tall pedestal lies a vase, Which I admire for its beauty, Its skin is made of but the finest glass, Fragile, so I stand and guard it mutely. The slightest brush will make the table shake, The vase will fall to the merciless floor, Into countless pieces it will there break, Its beauty to be admired ne�ermore. I am there to gather the tiny shards, My gentle, caring fingers act as glue, And like a thousand mended broken hearts I rebuild the precious object anew. This is why at your side I will stand still, For I love you, friend, and I always will. |
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