Member-only story
A Windy Moonlit Night in December
Sunday sonnet
The wind whips moonlit branches to and fro.
A dark form shudders just above my head.
That branch could be a beast for all I know.
Most creatures, sleeping soundly, went to bed.
The garden’s mostly resting. Hear that shake?
A chattering of leaves dried on a branch.
This wind gust shakes me all the way awake.
Cold puts to rest the need for sleep. Dreams stanch
a garden's draining color. Moonlight blows
a little softer than a pressing thought.
I thought a little more, but then, who knows?
I know for sure this moonlight can’t be bought.
These moonbeams shine their light for all to see.
Dramatic light, please send good dreams to me.
Thank you, The Daily Cuppa, for publishing these Sunday sonnets.