The condo's not the same now that she's gone.
The dolls and toys they, strewn across the floor,
Seem lifeless now. Their absent voices sound
On the walls that are quieter than before

But toys are quiet anyway. The dust
Of doors that slam won't echo in this pall
Nor the pitter patter of her little feet
Nor the cries of "Daddy! Daddy!" in the hall

That rang like joy of birds that have not yet
Grown wings enough to take into the skies.
The kitten that has grown does not forget
Her fairy voice nor the swift time that flies.

Every time I see her she grows tall.
While the world at large is spinning like a ball.

me thinks a sonnet is very hard to write
putting it on paper doth require skill
one must show the ease of a carefree kite
whence applying each and every ink spill
there's no room for bad mistakes being made
the formatting should carry the right tone
as stated by Will who knew of poetic trade
penning many hundreds in iambic cone
one did dare Shakespeare's enduring trail
on attempting his fourteen line layout
oh yes the challenging road did prevail
depicting a time honoured rhyming rout
with couplet concise one shall fly away
leaving a poem of red roses in May

As melancholy seeps across the sky
Like sunset bleeding orange into blue,
The days to come all seem to pass me by,
Entrapped in reverie - I dream of you,
My wandering attentions yearning still
To hesitance and lingering, to slip
Against the feel of you. A bitter pill,
No less because it still evades my grip:
One wanders into winter absent fear,
The better still if warmth awaits at home.
It stands to reason: I can bear it here
So long as you'll be there. Perhaps we'll roam
The wintry wastes together, hand in hand,
All wreathed in summer, dearest firebrand.
Though summer quickly saps the will to move...
They languish in the sun's recumbent gaze,
All subtleties and whispers, naught to prove
And naught to do but bask away the days...
Elsewhere, the birdsong decorates the air,
A harmony from discord - life abounds -
And elsewhere still, the bees are buzzing there,
Alighting, tracing circles, winding round...
Elsewhere. But here, the summer glow remains
And furtive touches summon halting tones -
Then tones to murmurs - whimpers - soft refrains
Inviting - then demanding - then a groan...
The bees will call to bees, the birds to birds.
As summer comes again, I offer words.