Sonnet 13

Let this naive heart be a deep, calm ocean,
That eternally flows in every season;
On lips of waves are love and compassion,
In its heart is settled great satisfaction.
It never measures the standards of living,
Of those who come here, but believing.
No question is asked, there's no displeasure,
Of being soiled or unpurified by mixture.

This heart, so-called an ocean of pleasure,
It runs deep where there's no seizure.
The surging waves arouse hopes in mind,
To resume life that's been left behind.
People may come here, and people may go;
But my ocean like heart, will endlessly flow.

by John Collins

Other poems of COLLINS (78)

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