unfinished sonnet
all our questions left unanswered
birds create in song before night settles
whereof dreamers sleep to dream
one infinite menagerie
and lovers lie entwined still
inclined to never part
then come artists godlike and paint
every blade of grass in the field
and every word the poet utters
reverberate through caves and chambers
light and dark and sparkling
inaccessible and wondrous
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh
Sun 17th Aug 2025 11:20
Nice one, Adam.
Sometimes we can "finish" a piece to death, leaving no room for imagination.
You tell it like it is, and I'll read it like it is.😏