SONNET 40
Cradle whatÂ’s left of me now in your arms
The night is too full of ghosts and dreams
And I have no weapons to bring; no charms
To wrestle against my foe, the past, who schemes
To plot the course of all my weathervanes;
Those roosters point their combs to yesterday
And whirl madly there while I go insane
You are that one lovely place where I go
To make the nightmares vanish in the wind
And when the past threatens to lay me low
I know the place to find your light again
And safely nestled in your arms, I find
The past has faded from my troubled mind
