He walks disheveled in long steps of two
Slipping along, mumbling his frightful song
Never knowing his fate and the ghost who
curses his weary sleep, with winds along
His coat hangs low, of tattered old brown rags;
urchin of winter with ears like a doe,
dark eyes so sad are weary saggy bags.
Hail to the Pawn, January's ego
He comes with tidings of storms, that will blow
Wishes of winter's white queen, her dream
She sends her Pawn on whirlwinds to bestow,
the season's greetings of snow from her realm
January Pawn, whose never really sure
Of winter queens tempests he will endure
Author notes
thinking legends
Comments
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Ah... The sonnet is my favorite form and you have taken it and made it your own. You are a master of image and in your sonnets it's amplified. Well done!
Love,
Amera♥
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Great metaphoric thoughts come about through this in a couple of ways. The Pawn might be the remnant leaves of brown left quivering against the winds icy swirls. Or in fact an actual person treking along tired and cold in January's grip.Or even an emotion of personafication dealing with a harsh life. At any rate,a great poem to read here!
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