Photo by MD Wheatleya sonnet about sonnets
for lamb
i thought long and hard, then thought some more,
about what? idk… sonnets… what matters, is i
thought first of snow white hair and how if i
watch Wasatch long enough, i start to see your face.
i’m only dreaming, i tell myself, because i’ve never
been to your neck of the woods, but i know yer
out there, in the woods, romping around in your leaky
boots, leaving me a path to follow, showing me just
how bountiful a dedicated life can be, you wrap
me poems as a gift, the gift has many poems and
the sun hits each differently, and we melt, we
melt with the snow, rolling like rolling clouds that
we mistake for mountains but a picture doesn’t
do it justice, never does, and we know that now.
