Sonnet XVIII … Temper’s Storm

Summer’s sultry heat hath fled, yet clouds of darkness remindeth me of steamy days punctuated by the bleak violence of Mother Nature’s stormy temper.

 Weathered, I, her fierce and erratic outbursts the only way I knew how … with my nose buried deeply in a pile of comforting hay.


Sonnet XVIII … Temper’s Storm

Tis summer’s heavy air that cloaks my back

And lifts aloft the biting critters fierce.

And in the distance sounds a mighty crack

As fork of lightning through the skies doth pierce.

The mounting storm with drama doth embroil

We gentle souls who cringe on Earth below.

Yet will I not my dinner let it spoil

And munch away while braving Nature’s show.


For while the skies may darken as the night

And birds upon a wing may flit and cry,

I must, perchance, contain my yen to flight

And bury nose in hay as tempers fly.

Thus, if a mighty wind my peace destroy

At least I will have died a happy boy.


See you anon at Poet’s Paddock …

Shakespeare “The Equine”


Copyright Aimwell CreativeWorks 2012

2 thoughts on “Sonnet XVIII … Temper’s Storm

  1. Wonderful blog.I enjoyed reading your posts.Best wishes.Few times l been to Ashland to see Shakespeare’s Festival.Jalal Michael

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