Seven of Clubs - El Trains
11 - Petrarchan Sonnet
High Line Park
Ascending grated stairs the rails appear
And tracks enwrapped by verdant undergrowth
Her hand in mine and mine in hers but both
Beset by joylessness evoked from clear
Memories sprouting forth, recalling years
And vanished faces we once knew by rote
As tracks and rails displace their grassy coats
And phantom trains cause rumbling in our ears
Then back, encouraged by her pleasant face
Surprised to find us in this lofty place
Together sitting with our forearms crossed
Indiff'rent to the present's lovely truth
For even celebration of our youth
Cannot compete with everything we've lost
Poem coming here later today...
In the meantime, check out April 21st's poem from last year.
1 comment:
sad. sad. sad. woe is thee.
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