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Thursday, February 14, 2008

Sonnet XLV

The sounds of mourning beckoned me outside,
As morning’s dismal rays began their hymns.
The dawn that follows rainy days is grim
As tiny funerals are mutely done.

The sounds of morning were the sounds of death
And mourning’s dismal hymns bring fresher dawn.
The deadened things to newer ones are pawned;
Sad tears of heaven bring new tears of joy.

The earth is quiet, mute with joy and grief,
As happy funerals commemorate
Renewal purging dole and death abate.
Undying death will bring the life we seek.

Beauticious murderess of spring’s weaponry,
Your name, Renewal, strenuous is your fee.

1 comment:

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!