Sonnet, There Is Still Singing

There is still singing in the heart and song, When evening of sky gives dark to the blue; For all what is found and painted there new, Is like spring in earth profoundly and strong. Compare ornament that vigor prolong, The colors come up to be only true; Freshen the instants until they are through, And nothing in itself can be there wrong. Truest to write is truest to compare, Moments are pleasures to believe and give, Like the first born seedlings meeting new day; For what is living word if not to share? And why is there beauty if not to live? The thoughts should meet in minutes parting way.