A Step Towards Winter

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I look into the mirror’s depthless space

and note the wrinkles that, somehow have grown

into something I wish I didn’t own.

The knife of age has cut into my face.

The greys within my hair have moved apace

from where the bird of youth had lightly flown

to make a nest of life that it could own.

I wish it hadn’t sprinted in that race.


Yet – later, standing on a wind scarred rock

that jutted from the fields of pristine snow.

Where rivers etched like lines upon a page.

I came to see the beauty, not the shock,

of time’s tattoo upon a constant flow

of seasons, that lack colour in their age.



Photo (c) Ian Whiteley (Bannf National Park 2009)

agebanffgrowing oldiceriverssnow

◄ Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia

Black Widow ►


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Dave Bradley

Sat 2nd Mar 2013 19:31

Harry's said it for me. Nice one, Ian.

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Harry O'Neill

Sat 2nd Mar 2013 00:06

nice sonnet,

Liked the human/landscape reflectivity of the two sections (how the last six lines `answer` the first eight)

Particularly liked:

`The knife of age has cut into my face` and the use and position of the word `yet`.

Knowledgeable use of the sonnet form.

tony sheridan

Fri 1st Mar 2013 18:40

Beautiful. The last three lines! Well done! Take care, Tony.

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