On the Difficulties of Writing a Sonnet at HomeCome thoughts, for you must muster on parade,
by Anne Higginson Spicer
A sonnet on the rain, my fancy orders.
(We'll have to sell the house or take in boarders
If things keep soaring skyward, I'm afraid.)
The rain—I'll make it spatter in a glade
Where larches tall o'er spreading flowers are warders.
(The old provision dealers are such hoarders;
It's all their fault that prices high have stayed.)
The rain, down-dropping in a scented wood.
(That recipe for scrapple sounded good.)
The rain, it rings with elfin laughter running.
(This pattern for my new frock will be stunning.)
The rain, where breezes sing and zephyrs laugh.
(Our oil stock cut its dividends in half!)
Having just been writing poems for an entire month that ended with a lot of rain, I've been thinking about this, one of the best poems about writing poems (which ironically is one of the most difficult topics to write a poem about).