What Solemn Countenance - Sonnet 13

Do you remember days of certainty:

What, then, the only thing we knew for sure

Was absolutely nothing? Premature

Were our ideas of love and fealty,

Although purported was our claim to sight,

For truly we had not yet seen all ends.

And what, then, of societies of friends

With single common purpose: to take flight

Despite the gravity of life unlived

And haste to meld our hearts and minds in work?

And what, then: you now sit without a smirk

In hardy counsel, that which failed to give

You neither recompense for all your molds

Nor peace for what your past and future holds?