When Emma called to me, ’twas middle night.
“I’ve the worst headache ever, help me now!”
The ambulance arrived, by angel’s flight,
my wife, she’s buried now, tears rake my brow.
Ethan called to me; “Dad, I don’t feel well.”
“Get to ER stat,” I screamed at my boy.
“Don’t think there’s time, this hurts more than Hell.”
He’s gone, guts ripped to shreds; my pride, my joy.
Off I went upon my bike to ease the pain.
I headed west, to watch the farms of corn.
After miles, my aches began to wane.
And then struck by a truck, please, someone mourn?
Fain spend your time more wisely than your gold.
Your life is far more precious to behold.
{David L. Stanley:DStan58} August, 2019
I’m bringing sonnets back.
You can help. Give a couple of claps, toss me a follow, share with your friends. We can do this.
Please, check out the portfolio of @ashkfor121 on Unsplash. I just found his stuff this morning. As you can see, he’s an exceptional photographer. Thank-you.
