A Sonnet for Ian Bowen's challenge called Summer's end XXX
There’s a picture of summer I can see
through my autumnal heart that alleges
the guilt of summer before winter’s plea
chasing no path, the victims are the hedges.
The short promissory note singed by June
has been lost without trace I’m believing.
Winter’s mocking spell on September’s moon
has handcuffed sunshine who talks of leaving.
Friday, September 2, 2011