Dead. Dead. The leaves from autumn are all dead.

They crackle under the feet of people

Too busy to appreciate the red

Covering the trees of the cathedral.


A child, no taller than my own waist

Stopped to observe the breath of the world.

His wide eyes, flushed pink by the wind, were graced

By light distorted from clouds as they swirled.


A smile crossed his face, like the winter

Frost as it melts beneath the summer sun.

Then he heard his mother calling him, “Dinner”

And the cold set in, the moment was done.


But the boy could look back and remember

That beautiful red glow from December.


Hello everyone! This is a quick attempt at a sonnet. It’s pretty rough. But I’ve wanted to do a first sonnet for this blog and not had the time. So yeah. Let me know if you have any creative insights that would improve it! Have a great weekend!


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