My Throat Is Sore Poem by John Wilbye
My Throat Is Sore
My throat is sore, my voice is hoarse with skriking,
My rests are sighs, deep from the heart’s root fetched;
My song runs all on sharps, and with oft striking
Time on my breast, I shrink with hands outstretched;
Thus still, and still I sing, and ne’er am linning,
For still the close points to my first beginning.
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4/26/2024 3:31:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
