H E Double your Hockey Sticks

Walking a valley of death, or shadow,
A land from whose born no trav’ler returns,
An angry alleyway is a meadow,
With you in heart I can any fear spurn.
Tremors in the night, waking in a sweat,
My fright rises not from ghouls, ghosts or gaunt,
But feeling my vacant hand by me set,
Soon cold is filled with warm leaving no want.
And were you to leave to the depths of Hell,
Still no worries from my heart will leak out,
The years from now until my final bell,
Cast upon an eternity no doubt:
Any words would I speak, forget how bold,
Just to be a Tristan to your Isolde.

H E Double your Hockey Sticks

William Adler

Joined March 2009

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

sonnet. Shakespearean. Thanks to my handful of fans.

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