Coming Storm
a sonnet
Nov 5 · 1 min read

Upon the earth the grass is moist and green;
The sun goes rising softly into day,
And all seems gentle though the skies are gray
And stillness reigns upon a land serene;
The young winds wander aimless and unseen;
The sparrows cluster somewhere in the hay
As though the quiet now cannot allay
Some fear that winter lurks within the scene.


