Fourth Sonnet for Fawn

To find her patience snapped, her love withdrawn, Has ripped apart my soul, my every dream. Each night I think of nothing but my Fawn: Long hours do stretch ‘til dawn’s first golden beam. On waking early - sleep’s most cruel demise - No peace, no thoughts but of her hand in mine Get through the sodden mist before my eyes, Each tear an ocean’s worth of passion’s brine. Should man himself torment with tender hope Through hapless weeks of painful waiting spent? What desperate heart would not reach out and grope At any sign her words were not so meant? If time will tell me how she thinks of me Then wait I shall, and ever patient be. OK, yes, I've had to write a fourth sonnet for her. As with the first and second sonnets you have to observe that it was constructed after certain constraints were set beforehand, just to make it doubly difficult. Read it in more than one direction to see what I mean. I've already written the fifth sonnet but I think I need to hold on to that for a while yet. Like the first and second sonnets, the fifth will be one I want her to read. Not this one, though. I've got two more weeks of waiting yet.