It's nectar oozing from our broken wings,
And we, the young, feel broken more than most.
This bittersweetness permeates all things,
And nothing takes the life out of our host.
If you, presbuteros, have made our brace,
And bandaged broken wings from birth till now,
We understand the weight of gray-haired grace
And follow footsteps without asking how.
It takes the pain of days to carve a heart
Which earns the worth of wings in heavy trial
On trial, and without cease is torn apart,
But gains a foot of hope for every mile.
It is from such examples we surmise
When at last chrysalis forms, the larva dies.
postscript
[link] Shkespearean sonnet as part two of two sonnets (so far) for the Crown of Sonnets we're all collaborating on at, of course, Crowns of Sonnets. Check out the link above. The crown sonnet contains fourteen lines that we take and then write sonnets around. That is, the beginning and ending lines of our sonnets tie into the original crown sonnet. Aren't sonnet crowns awesome?