Wounded sonnet — a Pegasus before
your airy wings were clipped, you used to bear
fabled heroines with golden hair,
empowering them to live for evermore
in sinuous melodies that lift and soar
and fall in perfect cadence. Now despair
your fading glory: stumbling earth-bound wear
quietly my name. Who can adore
so mean and dark a creature and fulfil
all the promise that your form holds still?
I have no starry beauty worth a song:
poor broken sonnet, he has done you wrong.
So, to requite your loss and his endeavour,
what can I do but love you both for ever?