Little Song--A Sonnet

Enthralled by your unbounded beauty

That I admire all seven days a sennight,

It is me that you do not see;

My heart pounds madly at your mere sight.

Although we descend from people of conflicting histories,

I would not let semblance interfere,

Yours of gleaming tourmaline and mine of the snow of January,

Our love would be the utmost paradigm of love: open and sincere.

But for those who would insist to oppose

Our unalterable affection for each other

Must answer to the next line that is written in more than prose:

Don't even bother.

For two people who love each other belong

And their time spent together should be nothing but prolonged.