PURE WATER

Water in its purest form,
I have yet to find this pleasantry.
Falling from the skies amidst the storm
Cry the tears of polluted water drops.
I have found no ocean or sea
That has yet demanded to adopt.

Reservedly inhabiting within the heavens,
We must wait until our day
When we are accounted for our sins;
Once the blood of Jesus permits us
To be guided upon the way,
Discovering pure waters, as led by faith and trust.

Water in its purest form
Reservedly inhabiting within the heavens



The rhyming pattern for a Cornish Sonnet is:
A. b. a. c. b. c.... D. e. d. f. e. f.... A. D.

Editor's Pick in Poetry Newsletter 11/16/11