Mar 4, 2021
1 min read
Winter Wind
A sonnet
Winter wind whipping through whispering woods,
Branches waving, clouds moving rapidly.
Constant movement, staying warm as one could,
Staying out not longer than practically.
Gathering the last misshapen and knot,
Filled dregs from empty wood bins, half buried,
In frozen snow banks, too large than it ought,
To fit stove, must…
