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Diane Hine
Sonnet 2: Mortal (Petrarchan) - Poem by Diane Hine
The garden state of Eden soon proved stale
to plucky and inquisitive young Eve
So she decided she would rather leave
than have that boring status-quo prevail.
Now ever since we mope, be-moan and rail,
throw up our hands, tear out our hair and grieve
Pray fervently that there may be reprieve
from naughty-Eve inflicted mortal jail.
But may I say a word in her defence-
How could immortal life hold any charm,
when every game we play derives it's sense
from striving 'gainst the impetus of harm.
There could not be a purpose more intense
than racing to elude death's shrill alarm.
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With every game in Eden a microcosm, Eve giving them away to take on death makes her a serious player indeed. (Report)Reply
I'm suspicious of any gal who talks to snakes, but I swoon at any gal who talks in sonnets
Petrarchan form almost perfect. (Report)Reply
A good sonnet. Interesting twist on the Eve story. Read mine - Sonnet Beyond Love -
Adeline (Report)Reply
Keep writing sonnets, Diane. You're good. (Report)Reply
Brilliant, love it - well rhymed. (Report)Reply
This is a great poem, I feel pity for young Eve. I love it very much. (Report)Reply