I feel the spell of winter in my heart
at any time I am estranged from you
though it be summer, and we are apart
I cannot feel the warmth of summer’s due.
The August grapes look withered on the vine
and leaves seem russet, though they be full green
when separated from that light of thine
which could make summer of a winter scene.
But love, if we should reunited be
though it were bleakest winter’s blackest night
I’d feel the warmth of spring enfolding me
within a meadow bathed in broad sunlight.
Falls winter on my heart while you are gone
springs into summer sun when you return.
© Experimentsinfiction 2021, All Rights Reserved
And so ends another Sonnet Sunday…
Though I do not advocate handing your happiness over into the hands of another person, it seems to be the stuff sonnets are made of. I have thoroughly enjoyed this Sonnet Sunday and I hope that you have too. Thanks once again to all of our contributors. Join me next time at a time to be announced when I have got my breath back from this marathon poetry fest!