Archive for category sonnet
One day my children, who’ve yet to be born
And the sweet music that rose in my chest
Will walk the grave of I, who’ve yet to pass on
And my bones, once again, will be blessed.
The angels that in their time grazed my lips
The cheerful hands that wiped apples and tears
Will leave gentle marks in air that I kissed
And in the fine dust that fell on our stairs.
The doors we painted, each a tint of scarlet
Will turn grey, and in the garden, the dew
Will fall on leaves, amber, maroon and garnet
Inside the small rectangle of my view
Where drawings drift of a hundred new worlds
Of matchstick men in hats, mittens and pearls.