Sonnet

(The following is a Spenserian sonnet)

An open wound on a slow bleeding heart,
Small gift from pretty you to lonely me.
A souvenir of time we’ve spent apart,
Time never truly meant to set me free.

Through my open heart your love it does flee;
Leaving tracks in several shades of red.
You are never quite clear of the debris,
Never quite clear of the tears I have shed.

Maybe, my love, you should read what you said
Or Should I take an arrow to the heart?
Maybe you will take my arrow instead
Then my world can start to crumble apart

So I forge a shield made of love and hope
If I fail and lose you, I could not cope