Sonnet 548

With summer’s heat draped heavy on the trees
And not a zephyr’s kiss to daub my brow,
I longed for cloud or best, a gentle breeze
To cool my face and daunt it’s florid glow.
The cotton twill fair melting on my skin
Now sopped in sweat and hanging in despair;
The smell of roses burning in the sun
And lilac pyres’ perfumed on the air.
A wing aloft, poor Icarus aflame
Circles slowly searching for some shade,
Perhaps a vulture skirring for the lame
To mark in pirouettes, a looming grave.
So sat I sullen, winter on my mind
And were I there, soft praying warmth to find.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s