SONNET

by Sharon Auberle

I asked you, once, what happens

when dreaming comes to an end.

When light that falls through the trees

no longer seems able to tend

to those dreams into which we leapt

long ago, now grown cold

and autumn closing in,

brash, blustery and bold

and wind stripping leaves bare

from trees once sheltering us,

life and death beneath my feet

now become just dust.

Oh my heart, help me remember

in every cold fire remains an ember.

~ previously published in Crow Ink

(Little Eagle Press)