Urban Seasoning Sonnets
If keen a goldfinch knits, loops and entwines
through hawthorn, urgent instinct loosens free.
It's bright with flash that crimson blaze enshrines;
as summer scorches red, it could be me
when lying prone on beach or under tree,
in pensive mood when I gaze out to sea.
If darkened lakes with troubled waves reflect
a dying forest's lonely leafless tree;
when time is stretched with endless hours' neglect,
as late November breaks, it could be me
among the rushes singing sweet my plea
against the final sun and moons' decree.
If gathered swallows ghost in autumn's shade
and scissor night with scarlet skies that flee;
then darkling eves almost the stars invade.
Where shadows slowly dance, it might be me
that heads like ships to seek a sheltered quay
or sheep that search a fold across sharp scree.
if spring is warm, Earth breaks the winter’s fast,
exploding green reveals my heart at last.
"Urban sonnet" contest 20 April 2019
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