Love Sonnet 93: 'I Could Be One Of Things That Love Forgot, '
I could be one of things that love forgot,
My love seems not to think of me at all,
Here comes Summer but not a call I got,
She got in touch, the latest was last Fall;
Migrating storks are seen to homeward fly,
Homeward to nests the males have propped last year,
But our rooftop has none there stopping by,
Stopping like love that came not even near;
She need not come in person, that is true,
But true only as wistfulness permits,
For how could I in memory pursue,
Memory that not in true life fits;
......We find solace in joys we remember,
......They make not harsher days any grimmer.
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