a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan sonnets: №286

THE WORLD has been granted you in turn
but what is given, how will you repay?
see hills spring up before you and array
themselves in blooms that ever do return,
your vision does allow you to discern
the spark that lights the lantern of the day
encounters that you you along the way 
are gifts you see that you could never earn
and though your pathways seemed circuitous 
an angel’s hand your destiny did trace
and no exchange here is fortuitous 
all debts are paid already in the place
for every gift here is gratuitous
behold the beauty shining in her face:
the only currency of love is grace

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