Sonnet 571

Cimmerian scenes rough etched in ice and snow
Upon broad empty fields, bare and lean;
From out the hedgerows desperate shadows flow
Bled on blank white now reft of gold and green.
A wizened sun ignites the icicles
Which slowly melt into bright tears of joy;
That gelid grip now seems inimical
As so to harken back the siege of Troy.
This hint of springtime dripping from the eaves
Turns harrowed thoughts to images of you
That heartens so a soul yet still bereaved
By your long absence, sadness still to rule.
Yet in those silver drops some hope to find;
But you still gone, and winter on my mind.

© Loubert S. Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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