Sonnet

Who is it that winks in soft daylight here?

If I were but a shell of myself you;

Of all would turn away and disappear

For all is changed save my skin and its hue 

So wherefore, I ask, is your laugh so strange?

These lines so unfamiliar and new

Are etched into your porcelain skin; changed

Not thy appearance, but thy moral view

Milky white is your treachery and though

Your sweet speech is still novelty to me

It is cold, near hated, and lost its glow

And I know not the person that I see.

   What appeared to be a look of true pain
   Was to me indifference; cold before rain