More Shakespeare's Sonnets
By Fox-Trot-9

Sonnet 97: Fair Youth
(Faults 8)

I am the wayward prince of love-sick woe,
Cursed to walk through this footless tract of life
On which far stronger men begin their slow
Decline to bitterness, despair and strife;
And so I don the crown of thorns that draws
My blood to flow upon my cursèd head;
And with it flows my tears of ruth, because
Love's gentle words made blood and tears to shed;
And when I raise my weary eyes to heaven,
Still I see clouds o'ercast the skies above;
And so I'll go and find another haven
To sulk away the poisons of cruel love.
      So here I sit alone beside the fount *
      Brooding upon my woes that seem to mount.

(To be continued...)

A/N: And here's the 4th installment for the day... If you haven't noticed, the theme of princes weaves its way throughout these installments...

* Fount = (n.) fountain.