Psonnets of Romance
An Husbandman's Complaint

I love you, O my love, but I must leave
to go into that world where I transgress
to scratch together bread, then home, confess
I want to live, to love, and to believe
that I can live with, love you, and not grieve
the many times our Father wants to bless,
but I, so wearied working, want much less
than what His Word has bidden me receive.
May we be resurrected from this dead
and walk together gardens of this good,
our Father giving us our daily bread,
forgiving us our daily debt of mood,
that we may dress our holy marriage bed
like we have dressed trees given us for food.
~ by Michael Rew / Email: witness@psonnets.org