Finding Love Sonnet Poem

I have often thought about true love

As something you can find in story books,

As something that makes you fly like a dove,

And sends you sailing down the rabid brooks.

But how do we know when have found it,

Could it be sweet and dark as fine red wine?

Or is it dangerous like a snake pit?

But is it sharp like and untrimmed rose vine?

Can it fade away like the winter snow?

Or can it last beyond the fleeting years?

Answers that I can hope to someday know.

To prepare myself for the coming tears

The breaking of my heart will be in art.

Love is an emotion I fear will start.