Sonnet for My Guitar
A tender lullaby from Mother Earth's womb croonedHave you, my ageless colleen so faithful;
And never again do yesterday's residues wound
At dawn an innocent child's morrow so juvenile.
Always fervently to a night-time jig you invite me
When by the window panes chants a nightingale
With tunes wafting over the vineyards all too lovely?
To which Bacchus echoes with many an aromatic tale;
And on the Isle of Lonian are folklores weaved
When the scale of merry notes we ascend
With Mr. Potter's ever magical brooms conceived
By crafts of spiraling imagination that never descend.
Now in Dublin Mr. Bloom's traces the zephyr scours?
Shall we recruit seamen and sail for those timeless hours?
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