The Sonnet

She must be Venus, people can deduce;
Such beauty only goddess can possess;
She sits on golden throne of mighty Zeus;
For her the world beneath is just contest.

Descends she to the land of mortal men,
With kings and noble lords she toys and plays;
To fools her swinging hips turn clever men,
With mere brush-off poor little mites she slays.

But falls she for Adonis, as beautiful as she;
Awards him Venus with her carnal gifts;
Yet hand in hand they are not meant to be,
Lad’s bloody murder Destiny commits

Where fall the goddess’s tears and her love’s blood.
Springs there anemone’s fragile small bud.