Events overtake our best intentions;
we start out singing, turn aside to cry;
with the birds we make the best inventions;
but by ourselves themes stall that sought to fly.
In concert with a globe our best seeds drift;
wit-webs from spinnerets are better spun;
the late light lingers into dusk's grey shift;
high sickle wings flash, semaphore lost sun.
The day that queued for ice-creams and for slush
is tucking all its toddlers into bed;
blackbirds cease their song; now falls the hush;
we take some comfort from what France has said.
As pink clouds in greyed haze fade down to slate
the brightening moon's an ancient face of fate.
...........
It's another Shakespearean sonnet form, at least in rhyme scheme.
YOU ARE READING
The Singing Season
PoetryThe Singing Season. That's the spring-time. You'll also like other MajorSeventh poetry collections - and there are so many to choose from.
