What You Are To Me
You are my everything... better than spring
budding apple trees... the gates of heaven.
And the warmth of the sun's eternal rays
past a perfect ten... you're an eleven.
A temperate breeze neither hot nor cold
you’re a rare possession consigned on lease.
And an untrimmed vine or marble sculptor
with the complexion of a masterpiece.
You’re infinitely more precious than gold
or shade offering comfort from the sun.
The mist on a mountain top greeting dawn
you’re soothing laugh of a child having fun.
A cool spring shower in the heat of June
you’re a butterfly, freed of her cocoon.
(Sonnet)
08,09,2019
A Summer's Day Redo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Michelle Faulkner
Required words:
temperate, buds, lease, possession, heaven, complexion, eternal, gold, untrimmed, shade.
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