Sonnet #8 in Iambic Tetrameter – A White Hart

What do we find ourselves inside?
The Roman army’s moving north.
A sacrifice the snake won’t die.
The oblations smoke is rising fourth.

Wish you could fall in love with me.
The sacrament’s the gateless gate.
I could turn you back from a stream
Fulfilling or escaping fate.

The Garden’s walls are Persian blue
Aladdin’s castle’s Spanish bound.
It all comes down to me or you
If secrets hid are ever found.

Our Jinn fall down a Roman well.
The white hart runs without a trail.

©2013 Stephen K. Pickering

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