The day has scarcely blossomed, when its glow Is obscured from us, lost, as wilting bloom, Midst curves of hillsides, draped in drifting snow, Leaving only an opalescent gloom Bleeding through the line between land and sky, No longer day, but not yet fully night. Mute snowflakes faintly glisten as they fly, Reflecting the last of this sinking light, Enchanting ribbons squalling through the grey Should herald for us a silent warning That a dark hunger soon will swallow day, Leaving us with a long path to morning. Instead we are mesmerised by the scene Of the winter's fall, silent and serene.
This is my first ever sonnet - it's a bit like hard work!!!
Well it's "historic" in so far as it's one which I added to the Guardian Poster Poems for the "History" topic, although I did always mean to go back and write something more. I'll probably never get round to it, so here it is in its original form for now...
History weighs heavy on your eyelids Now almost lacking the strength to unblink. Caught in the wrinkles of your sunken face Memories long lost, but never replaced. We know your past better than you do now, Gently steering your familiar tales. But still we know so little of your life. Your hopes and dreams, the sights which you have seen, Are fading in the flickering twilight Of your once vibrant eyes, now turned to grey. History that once gave such sweet escape Now lurks, an unknown beast in your shadow.