This is one type of sonnet, which I wrote a few years ago (when I was entering the autumn of my days, instead of well into it).
December Dawn
By Tess Baumberger
Day grows from quiet within wider calm,
its stealthy bright seeping through my lintel,
and flowing soft upon outside mantel
of trees awak'ning to December dawn.
A mother breeze coaxes the childlike leaves
to settle, reluctant, to wintry sleep
whisp'ring the prayers their fertile souls may keep
beneath the shelter of her lacy eaves.
As I approach the autumn of my days,
so much within clings, sighing, to my limbs.
The gentle warm dispels my hopeless haze
while Spirit breathes its reassuring hymn
that even coldest evenings of the year
conceal a subtle, everlasting fire.
December Dawn
By Tess Baumberger
Day grows from quiet within wider calm,
its stealthy bright seeping through my lintel,
and flowing soft upon outside mantel
of trees awak'ning to December dawn.
A mother breeze coaxes the childlike leaves
to settle, reluctant, to wintry sleep
whisp'ring the prayers their fertile souls may keep
beneath the shelter of her lacy eaves.
As I approach the autumn of my days,
so much within clings, sighing, to my limbs.
The gentle warm dispels my hopeless haze
while Spirit breathes its reassuring hymn
that even coldest evenings of the year
conceal a subtle, everlasting fire.
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