Sunday, 7 February 2016

A Sonnet

Written: Quinquagesima Sunday, February 7th, 2016

It started out a day of glorious sun
All brilliant, blue, with not a cloud in sight.
Leftover ice, in patches, has begun
To shine, but not to melt. You know the light
Will not last; and now it is dark. All piled
Upon themselves the clouds look flat, all grey,
As steel or lead: they promise a spring, mild
And full of content. But for now they stay,
For days, and even weeks. Perchance they pour
Some bounty on the swelling ground below;
Or even in March days, on nature's floor
Lay down an unexpected gift of snow.
Oh, for the days of winter into spring!
No time but this so urges me to sing!