Forgotten are the venerated trees,
the winter solstice rites of yesteryears.
Neglected are the ancient mysteries.
Our sacred groves are drowned in Gaia’s tears.
Beloved traditions once so highly prized,
now, tattered vestiges of olden times.
Our cherished ambitions, half-realized,
faint echoes of the ancient, mystic rhymes.
A wreath of evergreens adorns my door
for winter solstice, the year’s longest night.
Observing festivities as before,
we’ll dance around a bonfire’s blazing light
and celebrate the cycle of the year.
Then days will lengthen, bringing us good cheer!
Copyright © 2021 by Cheryl Batavia
Welcome words of hope from Cheryl!
I love how this sonnet balances grief for the predicament of the earth at this moment, ‘Our sacred groves are drowned in Gaia’s tears,’ with the hope that still remains for our shared future. It is important in the darkest times to keep that flame of hope alive!
Thank you, Cheryl, for taking part in Festive Sonnet Sunday!