The wasteful sun wakes blinking in morning's weeds, Stoking bland buds until they burn as leaves Adding shade while the sun must spend his seed, And end generation in a spilling breeze. 5 Crowded near the generous golds you smear Greedy plants, like myself, stand wiped by light, Offering hungry faces that all in green appear To feed on molten surplus of your beams. Do not with banker's measure judge too hard 10 All those who live in interest of your sight; Such scales would swing me too lightly into clouds And judge my weighty love a zero dram. Paymaster of all my joy's fees, with me descend Or cycle skyward, where all our wages end.
From the collection "XXX Sonnets"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.