Though wide awake she dreams of yesterday
when in the grove they said their last goodbyes
and fought the tears and hopes that he could stay,
then shared a futile prayer that questioned why.
Now torn from mother's arms and lover's lips
the best of youth is sacrificed to war
in field and sea and sky where life is stripped
when it is love and peace that we implore.
The pages of his poems are all that's left
and yesterday seems ... oh so far away,
he picked an orange blossom that she kept
still sweet within the orchard its bouquet.
Like Eden is this lovely Paradise
and where he said her cheeks caught all the hues.
Like dew upon the orange in the night,
her tears dripped softly weaving through her rouge.
Then Paradise was blurred now all around -
his last words of "adieu" the only sound.
Craig Cornish, Posted July 19, 2014
This is the only 18 line sonnet form, a Heroic Sonnet