I wonder if he that treated me knew
The mystery that human body is,
That it takes two hundred muscles, no few,
To take but one baby step with some ease;
That, body veins when stretched end to end nigh,
Can girdle round earth's bosom—twice so made,
And body cells in their myriad when die,
Its equal sum in even time gets bred.
Nigh little is known of this universe,
Much as we pace round solar outer space,
Our grasp of the body still remains sparse.
Darkness prevails much as light may embrace.
Its treatment should then let sleeping dogs lie,
See if bodies heal on own—of drugs dry.
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This is a sequence of nine sonnets. But the last line of the preceding sonnet is not the first line of the next sonnet; nor is the first line of the first sonnet, the last line of the last sonnet; as is often the case. The first seven sonnets are composed of an octave each, followed by a pair of terza rima that can be viewed as a sestet. The last two sonnets (the eighth and the ninth)have an extra couplet concluding the underlying feelings. ______________________________________________________
Sonnets | 11.11.12 |
Topic: body, nature, healing, doctor,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem