From a new peony,
my last anthem,
a squirrel in glee
broke the budded stem.
I thought, where is joy
without fresh bloom,
that old hearts’ ploy
to mask the tomb?
Then a volunteer
stalk sprung from sour
bird-drop this year
burst in frantic flower.
The world’s perverse,
but it could be worse.
Did you enjoy the the artible “Sonnet for Minimalists” from Mona Van Duyn on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
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