SONNET 59

Sonnet 59- Who is that sloth plainsailing?If it be not they that ridicul'd time 's purgatory incenses and flavouring but sweetest aroma, What longuer'd engross can flex more than this adventure of nobler but magnetic decline and silvermoon deplete?Not from the wiseacres of folklores and folktales,do they their verdict pluck,Whereon masterstroke verdict balloon'd,but intoto and lo, intoto they in their pleaches,coagulate err ditto,And when the balance and contraction is weight'd at counterpoise,Not vaunt barely vaunt in those sinew bragg'd as contravene grows contraction of silvermoon,That this contractile disregard avaunteth fraught but contradistinction contretemps its parasitic host.

Whereon the galactic stars in their golden roses,not silvermooning and silvermoon struck contract;This contrariety when i perceive that lingers plummet,gaunt'd and emaciat'd even by the same contraption,Sagging momentum in their endowment disuse,and wear an audacious farcical visage,that all is well,Then the atrophy of this incurable foe,grinds them a lifelong mill a tarnish before history is reckon'd,Where fritter'd moon returneth not again in its sulli'd rays,And one lifetime once squander'd forever unregained,trash thy personage in trenches,As time bandies its artistic volleys adinfinitum,as eternities in its transit sojourn.