Sonnet

Into the wind a furrow rises up
From where a calloused hand has shielded it.
Behind a door the sun returns to sup
On gossamer tendrils from water quit.
Footfalls with an urgent meter shuffle
Toward some task, in silks of fine young taste
While under blades of sickly grass a full
Endowment of insects make new of waste.
Mildewy sputter groans and down, down falls
On papered heads, on pressed assorted dress,
Pungent recall of dripping petaled halls
Under mossy canopies of leaved tress.
         Steps stop, on sidewalk, paper falls, eyes rise,
         Wide grin, come claim, warm tongue, cool quenching prize.