Thanksgiving Sonnet

Emulating WS's form, if not his transcendent lyricism, I offer this “Thanksgiving Sonnet” for those reading this blog. I am thankful for you!

The holiday that calls for giving thanks

When yellow leaves or few or none do hang

Upon the boughs, and thereby yanks

The heart toward sappy sentiment and pangs

Of earnest hunger and regret for all

That has and has not been, calls too for an

Account of that which serves us as a mighty wall

Against despair. Count the solace where you can.

The squeaky child’s voice that sparks a smile;

Adoring gaze or purr of family beast;

Surprising ways that nature can guile;

The human arts permitting sensual feasts;

The cause, the quest, the whirl of busy days;

The ones injecting light into the grays.