Clawhammer
October 26th, 2011, 12:52 PM
Just a little sonnet I wrote this morning, thought I'd put it out there to hear any opinions. I'm no poet, so criticism is welcome.
The misted mountains of frost-bitten fall
Like unto ice upon an open wound,
With heart full of grief I shall mind its call,
For time heals all wounds, though never too soon.
Alike to the quail that calls from the oak,
“Rest thy heart and thy weary thoughts in me,
Rejoice in beauty, your sorrows now coax,
The soft hem of winter’s dress sweeps the leaves,
Lay down your poems and songs of hard times,
Let soul and spirit sleep in my embrace.
The wind sweeps the bay groves, hear its sweet chimes,
Forget ye the world, and set your own pace.”
The fruits of your labors soon you may reap,
When travels are over, then you may sleep.
The misted mountains of frost-bitten fall
Like unto ice upon an open wound,
With heart full of grief I shall mind its call,
For time heals all wounds, though never too soon.
Alike to the quail that calls from the oak,
“Rest thy heart and thy weary thoughts in me,
Rejoice in beauty, your sorrows now coax,
The soft hem of winter’s dress sweeps the leaves,
Lay down your poems and songs of hard times,
Let soul and spirit sleep in my embrace.
The wind sweeps the bay groves, hear its sweet chimes,
Forget ye the world, and set your own pace.”
The fruits of your labors soon you may reap,
When travels are over, then you may sleep.