Scarce for a moment a gloomy grimace, br A sad looking face nor curt countenance, br All-knowing smirk, nor haughty arrogance, br I wonder whence flowers get such good grace! br br A child is born with angel’s easy grace, br This goodly grace soon to a grimace turns br As this human bud grows to get grown face, br And is ne’er the same till childhood returns. br br Like humans some plants are wildly grown weeds, br Yet, while the weeds forest fragrance far spread, br We, human weeds, spread forth foulest of deeds, br Forcing all neighbourhood to turn its head. br br An if one distant day a child is born br With a grimace of frown, flowers shall mourn! br br A simple sonnet with three quatrains, abbacdcdefef, br and a Volta, rhyming gg. br br - Sonnets | 09.02.