Just Another Sonnet Sunday; What Of the Night

What Of the Night

It is a good night for sonnets, I think

Darkened skies high overhead have been cast

Better to write than submit to a drink

A soul finding itself empty at last


In need of good words yet to be spoken

Trying to write what the evening brings

Reliving my words that have been broken

The evening watch a time for such things


Sleep seems to blot out or chase them away

With fanciful thoughts often brought by dreams

Morning comes and promise is a new day

Nothing remains from the nighttime’s unseen


Endure the nighttime so that we might thrive

Morning is here, a grand day comes alive


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