Sonnet – An apology
Four thousand were at Lucton slain,
And Owen Tudor, kneeling in despair,
Soon sensed the sharpness of a loser's pain.
I note a plaque that says much blood flowed there.
A plaque proclaiming human misery,
Vile product of that awful field of bones,
I read the words and tasted irony,
Heard cries from my internal warring zones.
For I’m a conflict hosting right and wrong,
And wrong I fear has gained an upper hand,
The smell of wit has led my wits along,
A rocky route that lately saw me damned.
All words are bare and rarely plumb what’s right,
This rhyme – my plaque – may shed a little light
In 1464 The Battle of Mortimer Cross, near Lucton, North Herefordshire, was said to be decisive in the Wars of the Roses.
How can a person stay angry with you?
ReplyDeleteColette: Stay angry for a little longer, you're entitled. I never saw the grievous effect the two parts of my comment would have when combined.
ReplyDeleteYour sonnets have matured, are more sharply felt, more gratefully received.
ReplyDeleteCrow: It helps when you know exactly what you want to say. Just over 90 minutes, early this morning when all was quiet.
ReplyDelete