PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS'DIARY.SONNET-131

O that Sacred majesty,a rarity to the backward violet,reeleth from its lowtide,into the gargantuan but the marshy pebbles,of the direst annoy,O sweet victory like sweet vision is it for dread that thou mayest not be born?Orthat men at thy coast stampedes,wheezing like a grampus?If thou clueless shalt harp to perdition,The planet in thee boos to a rapturous derision,When every pride to the swashbucklings,mortal brawns deny,Over beauty's waste and silvermoon kept in disuse for a lifelong,Is it for shameor its adophobia that thou bearest captivity at heart orfor fun or for what a fickle intergrity,that thou thy history after thee be put to obscurity of the sacred plow,Which to ill manner'd intent and flimsy excuses desecrates,the pride of manhood?Let those whose nature pleases wage thebattle,Let those whom nature displeases,wage bitter war still,Barren planet,cast over endowed time,with chokes and interferences,carved from infamous seals at sheol,And nothing'gainst time's quirky pall of offence,can makea dent