Monday, 22 October 2012

Sonnet Amongst Flowers, Storms

 Among the flowers, my young muse steals
            With daring, darting, glancing skips,
Of every hue she makes a meal
            And naught but laughter courts her lips.
We jaunt atop a foreign mount,
            So close we knew it hardly real,
Where pansies burst of heavens fount
            And bloom with shades that bring to heel:
All that a man could claim his own,
            While beauty stirs the springtime bees,
He might hardly hold where he may roam,
            His only fear: that it should cease.
But treetops bend, as catch the eyes,
A darker hue now claims the skies.


Anonymous said...

This is a beautiful poem. I love how you capture the want to hold on to a perfect moment.

Jessica Lynn Lang said...

I agree we all have moments we want to cling to. Still letting them go can be a sweet release. And every poet can attest to the power of the muse.

There is some wonderful imagery in this poem.