Thursday, November 10, 2016

Niagara Sonnet Nine

Lovely, my lovely when the night has passed,
I dream, though waking, my tears on your face,
I have lived my lifetime, and now your grace
has wakened me once more to autumn's last:
the leaves all turning as a crimson tide
vacating Dallas Point becomes the fall,
the moments before winter's silent call,
and the last mother stone cathedral's chide,
her bells have rung out in the Sunday morn,
the whitened light through stained glass, glowing peers, 
and falling snow will wait 'till late next year,
'till after the new dairy calves are born.
Fortuitous that I have heard you call,
before the ground is frozen, shadows tall.

Emily Isaacson