Sonnet 2

Et cetera, began the balladeer,

and plucked his lyre of mischief and panache:

he played a tune that mystified the ear

and lulled his cogitations to a hush.


Et cetera. A February moon

spilled light upon a blind white turf of snow.

The drowsy balladeer forsook his tune,

abrupted his consoling rigmarole.


Some minor agitation in the trees

(a thought of morning, a report of spring?)

gave pause to his elation, broke his dream:


was it a sudden vivifying breeze,

or else, a darker thought, on blackest wing—

a mouse caught by a hawk, a stifled scream?

Poetry by Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2023-02-21 at 10:03

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by Uncle Meridian