A December morning sonnet: The pathway turns a corner and - TopicsExpress

A December morning sonnet: The pathway turns a corner and dissolves Into a place I cannot see from here The leaves and tangled vines twist through my hair And pull my back. They pull me towards the ground. Supposing that I fell and could not rise? Supposing that I crumbled and could not try? This would not matter to me more than wind - O wind, the transient traveler always lost. For if I could hold you close now to my breast And feel your hands arranging how they do The tingling feeling racing cross my skin I’d give myself to any twisted road. I’d give myself as either bought or sold. Supposing that I try and do not rise? At least I know I’ll have you by my side

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