Sonnet
Before these heavy winds, outreaching Fate,
Drive underneath the sod each flowering tree;
Before this heartless hand, whose callous hate
Kills all things living that for loving plea;
Before dire Time, whose iron lungs deride
And desecrate, erode, and crush to dust
The swelling blossoms of the summer's pride,
My stricken tongue finds speech, and speak I must.
Though warm lands chill, and freeze and shrink, to know,
O Winter, know your huge and hurling ways,
In which thy fist, through veil of shifting snow
Winds down the heartbeat of once-happy days,
This mine own rhyming heart, with Song for flame,
Burns breathing Beauty through your ghostly frame!
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