Tis been a hot, harsh summer in many parts, and Poet’s Paddock has not escaped heat’s wrath. Herewith some feelings on the matter.
Sonnet XVI … Southern Wind
The Southern Wind through paddock fair doth blast,
With scorching heat turns green both brown and dry,
When will it yield to Northern sister’s gasp
So I might graze in cool air by and by?
For grass not green is bitter to the taste
And crackle crunches ‘tween my searching lips.
As once lush shoots have simply gone to waste,
My mind confused with this must come to grips.
I love thee, Southern Wind, and warmth you bring
Yet wish you’d not outstay your welcome so.
Since when you parch the Earth it bears a sting —
A friend no more, I thus wish you would go.
For those who dare to mess with this Bard’s food
Can only be condemned as rank and rude.
See you anon in Poet’s Paddock.
Shakespeare “The Equine”
Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012