Sonnet At Sunset

[miyako73]

You only hear the lion not the loon;
Does he know about the sun-bathed circles,
The hues of the lake, its twilight twinkles?
Yes, he roars, but can he devour the moon?
I brave my dry spell, my longest monsoon;
Can’t you see my ageing brow, my wrinkles,
My darkened skin, my hands numb to tickles?
Yet, I still can snare butterflies at noon.
I still see youth on the sudden blossom,
On the new leaf still fragrant, still pale green,
I see it on the mother’s wet bosom,
On the baby’s still dreaming face, still clean,
In the wisdom of the blind, the lonesome,
Who still has stories about the unseen.

[virtuoso]

A nice mournful ode to the aging flame. You aptly describe the outlook of a winsome lover. Even when the beauty is obscured by common, dreary sights, we can leap outward with our imagination. I enjoyed your, scintillating poem. I think that "aging" is misspelled. Also, you need the plural verb "have" in the last line.

[miyako73]

Thanks for reading. Ageing can also be spelled as aging. "the blind, the lonesome" is only one--the I in the poem. I just put comma after the lonesome. thank you.

[tailor STATELY]

A wonderful sonnet:

"My darkened skin, my hands numb to tickles?
Yet, I still can snare butterflies at noon."



Ta ! (short for tarradiddle),
tailor