Church Hill Sonnets (VI of VII)

Sonnet LI (Church Hill VI)

I gather my dreams from where they are strewn.

I tidy the mess I made in my haste,

Take one last look in the light of the moon,

And turn to return to my life of waste.

The portal swings open of your accord.

You pass with a smile, your family trailing,

You all are now home and I feel abhorred

Found in the branches I have been scaling

And snapped budding twigs to blossom no more;

There will be a poorer harvest this year

Unless someone tends to the limbs I tore.

I’m ashamed to have become what I fear.

Sap runs down the hilt of the axe I hold

And sticks to my hands out here in the cold.