A Sonnet

The storms that tossed your ship for twelve long years 

Have passed; your sails now fill with pleasing air. 

Your soul’s washed clean with gentle rain of tears; 

Your sea is calm, and now the wind blows fair. 

Then breathe in well this momentary ease 

Yet watch the cloud that on th’horizon forms; 

A tempest lies in ev’ry passing breeze, 

And kings and crowns do e’er engender storms. 

Yet comfort do you have in this sweet heir 

Who like the sun doth chase the clouds away, 

And with his bride, ‘tis whispered in the air, 

His rule shall be an ever sunny day.  

     The clouds you weather now shall fly amain,  

     And son shall shine untroubled by the reign.