Screengrab sonnet

Gently rustling leaves

dance delightfully

as if there’s a sneeze

tickling the beech tree.

 

The playful wink of the rising sun

finds me in the same position

as when the frown of the setting one

departed for dark abandon.

 

I make for a dishevelled sight,

stiff and cramped, creaky an’ all,

but I’ve been writing poetry all night

and inside I’m feeling ten feet tall.

 

Gratitude, respect and admiration

for this amazing marathon.

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