When I blink, do my eyes best see,

For when I sleep, they see thee,

Gloom hence stands in my dreams, rejected,

The bright takes over dark, unexpected.

As thou walk with the cherry smile,

Magnetizing, poets, artists and alike,

As thou hide your shy, an attempt futile,

A poet smiles, for thou art his muse for life.

A waste metaphor in a poet’s verse,

For your mere account is far lovely,

Anything ahead, an idea averse,

No painting, no poem, so effectively.

       There is more living in thy wonderful heart,

       Than poet and artist dedicating their art.

(Attempt at a Sonnet)