Sonnet I Poem by Bronislau Mantooth

My chest I cannot call my own again;
I have no tools to change the lock from old.
For from my trip I cannot make amends,
Though for the other half it was foretold.
The horse that pulled my carriage steadily
Now falls in presence of the passengers.
And how the courses changed so readily,
Though through tempest and temptress we rehearsed.
A foul thing to be so far away
And feel the pull of mass I cannot fight.
But for the dream I will live ev'ry day;
I grant you me for else I'd have no might.
While this bond demands my love be smitten,
I shan't amend that for you I'm litten.