The Architect - Poem by Kris Viscardini
Let me not to the elegance of true minds
Admit impediments. Design is not Design
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with urge to misalign:
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on change and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth is timeless with every trouble taken.
Architecture's not times fool which lamely speaks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Elegance alters not despite brief hours and weeks,
But bears out design even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me shafted,
I never created, nor no man ever crafted
Based on a design pattern by Will Shakespeare Sonnet 116.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about The Architect by Kris Viscardini
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.