Internal Landscapes V (Petrarchan)
The boy so lost within, more lost without:
Forget he all techniques, survival, may
To wander early winter’s waning day
Entreat the earth to offer up no doubt
He purposefully does abandon route
Will he succumb as frigid mountain’s prey
Where visit has the tundra’s kiss, obeyed?
He, out to seek the lips, with envious clout
Determined there to die, disconsolate
Without desire for solace, solace be
The storm o’er him like blanket puts to sleep
A welcome, peaceful dream–like minuet
Sweet lady’s hand he takes; her eyes he steeps
Once lowly tramp, achieve him now marquis.