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These Earthly Things Will Do (English sonnet)

by Ben Pickard

Within my mind, I capture clouds for you,
And bring to bloom the rose despite the snow,
But truth be told, I cannot grow what grew,
Nor dry the damp and set the wick aglow.
To steel the colour from a butterfly,
Or give to you the rainbow's joyous hue!
But nothing sticks and not a thing I try
Is worth the love and care I bear for you.
The moon is out of reach despite my need
To pull it from the space it occupies;
I must, then, swap the roses for the weeds
And gift to you these earthly fireflies.
At times, ambition's eye burns far too bright;
With modest aim, we see with clearer sight.