Sonnets

By Robert Tirrell Leonard Jr

The Winter Melt

The rain is falling here upon the snows
as air is warmed and fog curtains the glen,
I walk upon the brush and melt that flows
and listen here to merry notes of wren.
The valley hushed around me, still it glows
and trickled in the melt and stirred again,
My thoughts up lift upon the trees repose
as here my spirits rise up where or when.

But here my path is long in lazy wood
as melting snows so trickle down the hill,
a mist is hanging, haunting round the trees
and here I walk upon the melt and stood;
to hear the wrens in ghostly song distill
this beauty that is wrought upon the keys.

R Is For Robert