The autumn breeze does resent her silence.
The coming air is too cold and too dry,
For when she refused to accept it, hence
Thinking she could go alone without it, why?
She's pushed away the wind's soothing embrace,
Taking steps to the cost of her own will.
Treading across the Gobi desert waste
There she walks hungry searching for a meal,
Blocking the sun with the hood of her veil,
Forgetting the reason why she is here.
Tir'd and lost, looking for the holy grail
No one near, nothing near, who holds her dear
Because everyone she has known to now
Only gaze at her with a deep cold, scowl.
YOU ARE READING
Sonnets
PoezjaThese are some sonnets that I've written. Some are English (Shakespearean Sonnets), some are Italian Sonnets, and some are modified. They all have 14 lines, ten syllables in each line and hopefully a near iambic pentameter.
