Sonnet, The River Runs (From, The Lost Sonnets) Poem by Peter S. Quinn

The river runs through the mountain of wild,
All things on this earth are born to be free;
Both what is made up or later compiled,
Some scenes hidden once we never could see.
Lets not go in judgment a bridge too far,
Even though you could say the fruits are sour;
For there might be an entry slightly ajar,
Giving you some knowledge from where is more.

Never lift the latch let this building fall,
If it's deference isn't truth among great,
I guess as for myself I'll keep its great mance;
For when all's lost I'll hear the distant call,
If it then for me very much is late,
I will have succoured entrance second chance.