Sonnet # 11 Poem by John A. Hancock

I sit to ponder more or less to muse
About this lively thing call'd love
O' a saucy lady can she be full of
Passion yet fleeting as the clouds above
She can kiss a heart so tenderly
Softly sensually caress one's soul
Cast a spell without a word
Fill an empty heart and make it whole
Rivers of tears hath flow'd in her name
Sonnets written thru the years abound
Ah the Bard knew'th love well
In his words my lady thee were duly crown'd
Sweet lady these lips crave your dainty hand
So oft persued by this humble man