sonnet

So rare these days is the love of old,
That at one time all have heard,
From books and stories we’ve been told,
And cherish word for word.
Our current love is never real,
Just a line of crushes fading.
We can’t tell ones that make us feel,
Infatuation’s hand invading.
You tell yourself, “my time will come,
Old time love will come my way.”
Some would say that you are dumb,
But they can’t lead your heart astray.
True love belongs to each in turn.
It isn’t something you can learn.