A sonnet is a little love lyric,
just to pass the time, or punctuate it,
or both of these, if we are much adept.
Thus this not-what-may-seem is the subject.
As with miracles, it is also so,
an expression of and a call to sow.
The everyday hides or hails love bespoke,
yea, not just miracles the naught does cloak.
The moments so sure and simple gifted,
up to action from the mud we're lifted.
Compare the opposite, I would have you.
Isn't that a song that still sings how true?
Love or longing for it, a call not low:
This sonnet does punctuate, don't you know.
