Sonnet VII

Happiness rushes like a mountain stream,
Rocks fill the creek before submerging down;
Through you, the water cycles back it seems.
But how the rains, o'er powered, do also drown,
Untaught, and caught by stronger current,
Pulled wayward to the craggy edge of doom.
Can what goes down the brook be unlearnt;
Condensed return weaved through Wisdom's own loom?
Precipitate the path a'top the vista,
Let me this happy cycle see in time,
Pouring downward so long a jaunt have moi,
Been carried off in backwards movéd climb.
    If this be wrong and I take ash for rain,
    Then off to sea for me is now ordained.