Sonnet XII

We seem as poets, always to know love
By blessed intuition, so to speak
Of dulcet beauties and heaven above
And wherefore in whose arms we will be weak

We seem as saints in practice, near to truth
Enlightened by the One who gives us life
Remembering the fountain of our youth
From whence our dreams of freedom were made rife

Yet, we are sinners who under His grace
Fall short of the glory, and so we rise
To endure the marathon runners' race
And with wings to boldly take to the skies

Such a marvel is the work of His hands,
Yet, greater still are God’s holy commands.