Tonight's Poet Corner: Sonnet Solstice #342
The Misty Hills
by Belinda Roddie
The misty hills are green and gold today,
the hands of spring caressing all their slopes,
and despite the fact that the fog is gray,
it fits as if green fire can emit smoke.
The misty hills are where I long to go
when I feel inadequate in my state -
ennui has settled in, my writing slow
as I wait for the clouds to dissipate.
Now that it's warm, I find myself much more
lethargic than I ever expected.
The sun drains all my life down to my core,
and mediocrity weighs on my head.
Perhaps the misty hills will provide
some cold hole in which I could then reside.
by Belinda Roddie
The misty hills are green and gold today,
the hands of spring caressing all their slopes,
and despite the fact that the fog is gray,
it fits as if green fire can emit smoke.
The misty hills are where I long to go
when I feel inadequate in my state -
ennui has settled in, my writing slow
as I wait for the clouds to dissipate.
Now that it's warm, I find myself much more
lethargic than I ever expected.
The sun drains all my life down to my core,
and mediocrity weighs on my head.
Perhaps the misty hills will provide
some cold hole in which I could then reside.
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