Sonnet CCCXXXIII

Its garden dead, its contents cold and bare,
What’s left is just a shell to be repaired.
The sprawling weeds reign king, the grass is long;
the tulips lay forgotten in the throng.

The truck sits, blocking all the driveway space,
forbidding in its grand yet simple grace.
The kids play all around, unbidden, free,
but pause to wave as I pass, wondering.

How love had driven them to tend their home!
The sentiments have fled, one can behold –
the house is peeling, barren, messy, tired.
But final rays of afternoon ignite;
the sparkling windows flash a last farewell.
The truck clangs shut, and leaves with troll-like stealth.

Sonnet CCCXXXII

He’s crafted hair for half a century,

so mine are pinpricks in a hairy sea.

He snips and combs, and strips away the old;

the excess falls like needles to my cloak.

They look like magnets, silver in the light;

at other angles, they are dark as night,

much blacker than the black that shields my clothes.

He starts to talk – on what he loves and loathes;

his loyal friends and customers all laugh.

His plans for after work, his coloured past –

these fill the place with laughter, joy, and mirth,

although there’s three of us (but soon a fourth).

He’s done with me at last. I smile and pay,

then turn back toward my mundane Saturday.

Sonnet CCCXXXI

The summer has departed: autumn’s here.

The lazy, torpid days have fled in tears,
Afraid of chilly days, afraid of cold.
The ruby leaves replace the sunny gold,
Accompanied by silver of the clouds.
The daisy’s petticoats are dry and brown,
Discarded in farewell to lovely youth
In favour of their barren stems and roots.

But no more rain or tears! Enough of that!
The year moves on, forgetful of the past.
We’ll watch the geese fly south; we’ll wait for snow,
While treasuring the warmth that we have known.

Farewell, farewell to dearest summertime –
What joy we’ve felt, what joy we’ll always find!