Sonnet 10: Oh, Where Shall My Wandering Soul Seek Rest Poem by David Wood

Oh, where shall my wandering soul seek rest?
A wound that runs deep rents my heart in two
Another’s head now rests between those breasts
Whose lithe tongue speaks of love you believe true.
I am a tortured soul, my heart a slave
You gaze at me and I am smitten deep.
Oh, for your love I will fight to the grave,
And then once slain slumber in deaths deep sleep.
But your new love may not last times great test
Your new true love may wither on the vine
And fall by the wayside like all the rest
And I may have the chance to make thee mine.
Love is a restless wind that can blow cold
Then your heart I will win with my love so bold.