By the time of the festive season, I was feeling good. I had left school for ever, which was a great relief, and had learned I had secured a university place to start in October 1974. All seemed satisfactory on the Fairport Convention front, and I was not then affected at all by the 3 day week. Moreover, I was content with Girlfriend 26, and was quite prepared to spend the rest of my life with her. This was a sonnet I wrote in the Christmas card I gave her, which then had a different, personal title, but which I now call:
“Acrostic Proposal Sonnet”
“What use is a poem?” the lover asked,
In the dark silent void where form was not,
“Love such as ours is can never be masked;
Let no fine words cool an ardour so hot.”
Your beauty, my Love, is greatest by far
Of all of the beauties the world has known;
Until verse can say how pretty you are,
Mere poems are nothing more than a drone.
“A sonnet, however,” the poet said,
“Really fits well all I want to express,
Reaching the thoughts of my innermost head;
Yes, even the ones I ought to suppress.”
My little sonnet says much about you;
Each line is a poem; each line is true.
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