Interesting dilemma: love and words,
or love for words, as fancy dictates such.
Both as exciting as soaring birds,
who love flying, I dare say, just as much.
But whom do I love more, my words or he?
Given that I would have to make the choice.
And what of all who love their art like me?
Choose architects, painters, and those with voice?
Interesting dilemma: words can fail
but so can he, although, not as often.
From whom does greater happiness entail?
Oh, but both cause heart and knees to soften.
In the end, I fear, I have only this:
which of the two, my dearest, can I kiss?
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Yeesh. My first sonnet, and probably my last.
