Poems from the Wild Flower Poetry Club

The Mountains

Prompt 6 - Write a sonnet about the last place you travelled to.

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It was mid-November when we all got together,
Under the fiery red maple tree, like we agreed upon.
Jerry stacked our packed trunks of leather,
And we drove away from this neighbourhood of neat lawns.

We passed through flat plains of long tall grasses,
Ranches and pastures stretching as far as the eye can see.
We got lost on a bumpy dirt road without a compass,
Why is this so difficult? We simply just want to ski.

Finally, we arrive at the mountains made of rock,
In the land of fresh snow, pristine lakes, and azure blue skies.
We donned our puffy gears and followed the squawking hawks,
Up, up, up the wintry slopes stretching miles high.
What a beautiful place - nature is.
And such a fond memory I will surely miss.