Sonnet December ???, 2024

O, sing to me the music of my sins,

so I may see those devils which appear.

Like cats, so flexible, their backs do bend, 

but constant list'ning peels their thin veneers. 

Can it've been me who caused your gates to fall,

Fair Piety, when all I did was drift

a raging torrent when my strength was all

but present--tides did strip my reason from my hip. 

Considr'ing presently my recent lust, 

am I the he who fell to its command?

Or, could I be the it which flipped his husk?

Could we, all three, have played in joined band?

How thieves oft' think their chorus is the world's;

but more oft' do our children sing the Lord's.