Sunday Sonnet!

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Then came a gentle whisper on the wind,
Angelic in its velvet undertone,
Like magical ethereal wunderkind,
Emerging from a faraway unknown:
‘What ails your troubled spirit, now? she asked,
And brushed my furrowed forehead with a kiss;
Leaving my meek, defenceless mien unmasked,
Her touch seduced me share what was amiss;
‘Confounded by Tomorrow’s dark unknown,
Deception would my hapless thoughts assail!’
In soft, mellifluous chords her voice intoned:
‘Distracted mind of ancient wit avail –
From shackles of disquietude walk free,
What is to be, Good Grace shall oversee!’

©Meanderings ’17

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