Sonnet # 3

It`s summertime; my heart indeed is sad.
And though the birds are singing their sweet song,
My heart aches much with pain that is so bad,
And my young mind feels a heat that is quite wrong.
I think it`s winter, thoughts of it I mean
That have me nervous for my single soul.
I`ll not have loving kisses, kisses clean,
Or the warm body of a female`s role.
So, you can see that every a good man
Not always fair whatever`s meant by life.
And to buy pearls or gold, what poor man can?
These facts, my world, are sharper than a knife.
Here I shed tears for things that are not mellow,
And, then, my thoughts to gentle my sorrow.

by Luis Estable

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