Dec. 18th, 2009

I love sonnets. This is my first attempt at the Petrarchan rhyming scheme, but the words still flowed as easily as the wine.

I hope that sorrows never learn to swim;
To make their way upriver like a trout.
For if they do then we shall be without
a way to put them down, and at their whim
would cry a flood to cure any drought.
We do need alcohol to bring about
a cure for melancholy with no doubt
it will succeed. No need for feeling grim.
But maybe there are other ways to deal;
perhaps another way to face this grief.
Who knows? It may be drowning doesn't work,
that it merely postpones, and cannot heal.
While drink provides a moment of relief
it might just push the sorrow down to lurk.

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JayDee

February 2013

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