Sonnet 13

I just don't have the vim, the heart, the wit,

clearheadedness, the gumption, the desire

to write a sonnet this morning. I just can't.


But if I could manage, I'd tell my reader

that it is late winter and I'm quite eager

to say get lost to all the frost and ice


and welcome days of pollen, of glad young

humans with lively faces, of frisbees flung

by the Charles, of sandals and toe-rings.


Weary I am of lacksleep and the cold.

Swerveless, determined, a factory-belt

conveys me slowly, irreversibly,


through Decade Six. How did I get so old?

Rooftop snow that April cannot melt.

Poetry by Uncle Meridian The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 52 times
Written on 2023-03-09 at 12:47

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josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Seems we’re all longing for the first buds and robins, Tom. A nice reflection.

jim The PoetBay support member heart!
"It is spring when the wind says it is spring;" !


by Uncle Meridian