Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Sonnet: Witnessed in my Garden

The wren must be the sweetest bird of all -
A cheeky little soul as he is rare,
And with his wife oft times he comes to call
At our green garden full of tasty fare.
Upon alighting on our fence he bobs
And dips his tiny head down to his feet.
I watch amused as with his dainty hops,
He sidles up to Jenny Wren to tweet
And serenade her mightily in song.
I'm sure Sir Christopher the Wren will win
Her tender heart. I surely can't be wrong.
Look! With twinkling eye and neck stretched thin,
She's inching up and putting out her beak.
What did she do? She peck'd him on the cheek!

Olivia K 1994


Anonymous said...

oh, it rhymes so nicely. I never could write a sonnet. Not many have your talent.

Olivia said...

V - thank you. But there are many who have more talent than I.
I'm not sure I have the patience to make a rhyme now.

Tanisha said...

That was fabulous Olivia. I haven't been able to rhyme since I was 20. Good work. How's London?

Olivia said...

Tovah - Welcome!
If it makes you feel any better, I wrote this when I was in 11th grade.

London is a mostly sunny 75F today, or did you mean anything else? It's rather a broad question to answer ;)

JP said...

Very good, the language and subject are very romantic. Here's a magnet poem I did in high school:

Sleep storms whisper music
On a vision flood
Heaving fluff from shadow tvs
Lazy beauty boils out of me
Mad day through.

Alter Ego said...

How pretty, Olivia.

So tell me, what happened with the glove?

Olivia said...

JP - well done, I could never put words together like that. Imagine, random wording is a talent.

Olivia said...

Alter E, my Victorian glove incident. This I will send you.