The summer sun its golden honey spreads
across the field awash with red and white.
The poppies proudly raising up their heads —
I've rarely seen a more enchanting sight.
The bees collecting pollen for their hive
hum cheerfully as on their way they go.
A splendid day it is to be alive,
I watch them as they're darting to and fro.
When suddenly the noise intensifies —
I turn and freeze, my thoughts are filled with dread.
A swirling funnel now confronts my eyes —
I'm fearing that I'll very soon be dead.
If so, I pray wherever my path leads
there's bees, and poppies waving in the breeze.
|
Author Notes
The idea is to write a poem of a given form on a supplied topic in less than an hour. Today's challenge is to write a Shakespearean sonnet on:
While picking wildflowers in a field, you find yourself in the path of a tornado.
|
|
