The competition is stiff, to say the least. I have yet to see an entry that is not a winner. Brevity or abundance, laden with enticing imagery and differing angles, each is a gem. And I dared to try? Coming to post it ere the ink had dried, I reviewed the guidelines again, and decided my hopeful sonnet did not fit the definition of "the ending of summer" since the octave was all about her joys. Loath to alter it, returning to the "drawing boards," I now proffer a trio of sonnets for my entry, each with the 5 necessary words. Acceptable? Each is a stanza to make the whole trio. Whatever happens I think I had fun, anyway, sure hope so.
(sonnet #'s CLXXXVII, CLXXXVIII and CLXXXIX)
Stanza I
Bold summer's carefree reverie: along
The dusty roads, beside the hedges, through
The hazy meadows where the path oft grew
Too small to trace, and daisy's faces, song
And dance, while chasing butterflies the long
Days through, enhanced her passion's play; where blue
Skies spread her brassy glow around and drew
A picture of Love's intense heights belong
Her charms. She enters with a flourish, and leaves
With sultry tang; the reins unwilling yields
To autumn's charms as waning warmth bereaves
Of freedom in more clothing; her fair fields
Of green to crackling brown in harvest's eves
A wistful joy evoke, where Time's scythe wields.
II
Fair fields of green to crackling brown give way
As summer bids adieu with sultry pout;
Heat waves assail no more, as if her clout
To autumn's charms now yielding, fatal sway
Wield ne'ermore; darling mem'ries in array
As verdant shades to red and gold about
The path spread underfoot, or other route
Take, chasing in mid-air wind's varied play.
Chill breezes temper naked freedom near
And far, the hedges too revealing her
Fair secrets, as the picture of that dear
Embrace, bereft of her rich trapping's lure
Stands bare of all her sweets. Time's scythe the year
E'er reaps. Yet she'll return in all hauteur.
III
Though Time's scythe overtakes fair summer now:
A rainbow makes of all her green allure;
And cheats the barefoot tread; carefree bestirs
To labour in the harvest fields; with plows
The ground returns to winter's bare, each bough
As hedges dear so clearly seen; inters
Her sweets; the path to learning wends, a blur
Of study, ne'ermore chasing dreams, all bows.
Yet in her late demise, when summer ends,
A promise of her loved renew'l she leaves:
In seeds and bulbs and stubs of buds defends
Against this death. The spread of her fruits eaves
Bedecks, a picture of her cheer extends,
As "Au Revoir" we whisper while she grieves.
06/07Aug11
Wow.. It's after the results were announced I began going, "Oh, what was happening here?" I see what was.. This is just wonderful.. :)