Sonnet 30

Sonnet 30 On the lawn at Saint Agnes’ Convent

Lying in grass quilts on wide fields of play
I stare at clouds chaotic, silent mimes
That ape still life below where children lay
In short repose, like me, these quiet times,
Angelic sylphs creating artistry
Each moment unrehearsed, directed by
Their unseen hands that mold methodically
New dreams that conjugate and multiply.
My young child’s eyes perceive the changes, bold,
That long miles measure wide the gap apart
Between phenomena of Nature, old
And nescience still unknown but new as art.
Young eyes behold what pleasures random flow
From here to where slow, gentle zephyrs blow.

January 3, 2002 (1:21AM)