Member-only story
A Foggy Late Afternoon at Year’s End
Sunday sonnet
It's only five o’clock this afternoon,
and it’s already getting dark out here.
Our time is passing quickly now, and soon,
the garden’s dark and foggy. That is clear.
The mist is getting thicker in the brush,
and almost all the snow is gone somehow.
The ground’s still cold. This fog does feed on slush.
All’s mist and varied temperatures now.
These bare tree branches point their fruiting spurs
at springtime’s flowing, colorful delight.
With quickness, Earth un-winters, soon time blurs,
and all that growth hides thoughts of late twilight.
The leaves will come, and when they do fan out,
then I’ll find something else to fuss about.
Thank you, The Daily Cuppa, for publishing these Sunday sonnets.