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Cliches of love

Sonnet 22

Her face cannot be compared to the sun’s gold rays
These are much brighter; I force myself to be true
And without her, my life would still have many days
Next to her eyes, the sea does possess a deeper blue
I’ve seen springs and summers, and today I tell thee
That her smile does not compare to Nature’s grace
So with morning lights, sweet bards would not flee
With spite, for they envy nothing from her face
Not with her, I would still write such sweet verse
And my gift wouldn’t die, for it needs not a muse
My world would not end, ‘cause I’ve seen worse
Than a lovely writer, his only inspiration lose
So I say not with stereotypes, exaggerations or all of the above
You might not be perfect, but your imperfection holds my love





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