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Sonnet No. 9
The wind's a lonely is witness to the tales
The world has known. Its bumbling breezes whisp
O'er babbling brooks, refreshing hill and dale.
The weary, wandering travelers feel its nip
Upon their necks, and wind their scarves so tight
To keep it out, lest blood freeze in their veins.
It howls the darkest on the loudest nights,
When you and I are soaked with cold and rain.
It saw Selene with her lover and
Scheherazade relating tales, which now
Are lost—forever lost unto the sands
Of time and all the deaths which it allows.
Tell stories as you wish—but, in the end,
The only living witness is the wind.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
The world has known. Its bumbling breezes whisp
O'er babbling brooks, refreshing hill and dale.
The weary, wandering travelers feel its nip
Upon their necks, and wind their scarves so tight
To keep it out, lest blood freeze in their veins.
It howls the darkest on the loudest nights,
When you and I are soaked with cold and rain.
It saw Selene with her lover and
Scheherazade relating tales, which now
Are lost—forever lost unto the sands
Of time and all the deaths which it allows.
Tell stories as you wish—but, in the end,
The only living witness is the wind.
© Emilia Perseo Samuel Gaspar
#sonnet
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