Through Half-Cracked Blinds

a poem by John Starks, USA

Through half-cracked blinds, the vernal moon does shine,
And I, affirming love, though prone to doubt,
Would raise my sash, and, bucking custom, shout,
As I, reflecting, would, nigh fretting, pine.
I may need what was proffered by the vine,
As I would border hard upon a bout
By quaffing down what ne'er could help me out
Of what makes men appreciate good wine -
But I shall keep as sober as a judge:
I'll check the past, or else project the fate
Of that which, hitherto, has proven great,
E'en that which mares of night would not begrudge.
Through half-cracked blinds, I see that half of light
Which makes my half dark future seem so bright.

As the linear space proved insufficient, I modified the first line so that the sonnet would have no spillover. Thusly fourteen lines were maintained.

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