Piker Press Banner
October 03, 2022

Sonnet 17, Quiet Time

By Ken Allan Dronsfield

Sonnet 17, Quiet Time

Wing beats of ducks echo across the pond;
stirring passions as summer fades away.
Warmth of the sun once greeted my morning.
Now, crispy mists are here to start my day.
Trees blossom with colorful leaves of Fall,
we watch them all slowly soar down to earth;
squirrels scurry along the old stone wall;
stash acorns for food during winter's mirth.
Looking to the west I see wood smoke rise;
from cabins that dot the hills and far shore.
Winds carry geese flying south in the skies.
Birds at the feeder eating seeds galore
Cherished memories found within a rhyme.
Autumn owns the clock, it's now Quiet Time.






Article © Ken Allan Dronsfield. All rights reserved.
Published on 2019-09-16
Image(s) © Sand Pilarski. All rights reserved.
0 Reader Comments
Your Comments






The Piker Press moderates all comments.
Click here for the commenting policy.