My Ladye of the Winde [sonnet]
Surprising simple sounds of breaking air
made waves across the room with curtains drawn.
You languished on the bed and in the chair
and said such weakness made you feel forlorn.
“Forgive me” were the words which struck my ears
as I with other features grappled hard.
A scent with all my senses interfered;
you threw into my way your calling card.
But yet I will not by such stuff be thrown
nor will I acquiesce to sweet redress.
So often strong retorts are overblown
despite the lack of feminine finesse.
No matter how much breeze you blow my way
my love will never fade to yesterday.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 