Sonnet VII

I know not how to move, to give a life
To my own wand'ring thoughts or questions deep
That deal with adoration. Present strife
Does rear its head in my light valour's sleep.
A supper asked, if luck be kind to speech,
Would sing to her had I the knighthood's heart.
The art of film would welcome her to reach
Words joined to wit, and nevermore apart.
I've sat and dreamt of ways to win her "yes",
But never have I found a way to talk.
I only wish for her, in love, to bless
My ears and heart; take those first steps and walk.
Still I do think I never will amass
The nerve to ask her to a night, fair lass.