SHAKESPEAREAN SONNET CONTEST: Closed

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Lovers Bearing Gifts

You came to me from San Francisco Bay
Your pockets full of promises or pain.
I waited at the depot that fine day
And trembled as you stepped down from the train.
You looked around and spied me standing there
Amid the crowd. I could not see your eyes
For I was hypnotized by total fear:
Too late to speculate with mere surmise
That meeting thus would somehow change the tie
Of friendship into one of binding love.
We stood transfixed, as mortals passed us by,
With thought to none for naught was there to prove.
And then at last the wonder of your lips;


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'Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never sleeps at all.' - Emily Dickinson