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Replying to a comment on:
Cold Afternoon. (Sonnet) by Sasha The many leaves were spiraled in a fall,
the ground absorbing any life still left
of branches growing bare and more bereft.
The skies were readying a rainy pall,
while men pulled on their ready coats, and all
the world appeard as bracing for a storm,
though none could know the fury or the form,
only that it had hushed the cricketâs call,
and night was on the wind -far more than one-
forboded in new darkness of the sun,
and skies swept clear of stars as by a hand-
all hinted something mad might break the land.
It wasnât much, but caused the race of men
to wonder when the dawn would come again.
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