The Sonnet Project: Sonnet #8

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Sonnet #8

I run into a land that speaks of youth

that stirs with fire rage and gypsy band

and when at last at home I tell the truth

I feel a stranger but on my own land.

The flock of birds won’t stop to listen in

as I recount the days events alone

I find a loss of words as I begin

explaining all the joy of gypsy tone.

The lute is calling forth my destiny

The lyre is drifting in my spirit sleep

The tambourine has lulabied my infancy

And quieted my babe’s young urge to weep.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

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