Another Year
by DCDave

Old Man Winter's chilling tale
Is not completely told,
But here and there forsythias
Are flashing signs of gold.

Out back a feathered harbinger
Is hopping on the lawn.
He looks at me disdainfully
As though he owned the property,
And in a sense it is his sphere,
His kind will likely still be here
When all my kind are gone.

David Martin

p.s. This rhymne and meter scheme
I call, most presumptuously,
"Martin's long sonnet." I invite
others to try their hand at it.