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A sonnet for the sea

Where do you go to my lover; tell me

Why do you rejoice in my pain’d look

When your shy form retreats; as soon you’ll be

Like my heart. E’er returning to Pembroke

Fiercely gentle, my lover fears no foes,

Any who cross her, are swiftly run aground,

But those whom she loves, rest safe in Marloes,

Shielded by beauty, protected by Sound.

You are stolen, fair fury, by the moon

That vexes me. Still, lucky are the few

Like me, believing you will return soon,

Tomorrow; when your cycle starts anew.

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