L’aura

I murmur. “She inspired the splendid thought
Which points to heaven and teaches honest eyes
All worldly lures and winnings to despise:”
Sonnet XII


There is no word quite so unreal
As perfect outside paradise, for I
A mortal maid full-fleshed, shall die
Pure skin will pock like orange peel
Age strips bare the gold ideal
And all fine words do speechify.
Declaim some truth and dignify
This form with lines much less genteel
You crave the laurels in my name
More than bedded breath of woman
Secrete some sex in female frame
Here down on earth, you’re fallen man:
My aura is not saint nor shame
Come cool your ardour with this fan

Being playful with a Petrarch sonnet (ABBAABBACDCDCD) and his idolisation of Laura de Noves, as Frank prompts us to compose a poem in 14 lines- as perfection of sonnet but not necessarily so!!
[Image source - Petrarch and Laura - Ashmoleum Museum ]