Welcome back. This week’s random sonnet is another “older” one. Let this steep over the weekend and see if you can classify this chestnut. Also see if you can pick out the intertextual rip. That should also be an easy one if you’re at all into traditional poetry, or simply have a good eye. Also see my website to choose a sonnet for a future post.
An Age-old Tale #31 The Queen, she walks at night through crowded streets, She doth lament a land devoid of love. The refugees of sorrow's cold retreats Await the prize they seek born by a dove. Stout Knight, embattled, lonely on the fields. A desp'rate combat where no glory's told. Yet death come sure, for even if he yields What worth this life if THAT He will withhold. Across the land you'll see that two lost souls Beneath blue skies do shuffle 'bout in pain. Caprice t'would seem the arbiter of goals. Methinks the search has purpose, ne'er in vain. Though winning near the goal he may well be, Pursuit itself, the challenge makes us free. Frank Garnick © Copyright The Archer's March 08 February 2022
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Thank you for reading and have a wonderful weekend. See you on Monday.
It just said, buy Frank a coffee. So I did.