| Romance Poetry posted January 19, 2014 | Chapters: |
...133 134 -135- 136... 
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a Sonnet
A chapter in the book Little Poems
Sunset Passion
by Treischel
Sunset Passion
(A Sonnet) Dusk's skyline paints with palettes to behold, Whence mellow clouds now purpled pink doth hang While summer's heated air is turning cold, The likes of which bards boisterously sang About such colors shown at end of day, Where glowing globe sits setting in yon west. 'Tis then the time that dreamers wile away, Before all God's blest children take their rest. Observe firsthand the sky lit up like fire, Igniting passions where love's hopes may lie Entwined when last of sun's rays may expire, They kiss to promises made bye-the-bye. The pull of passion's grip is very strong. When prayers arise may ardor last most long. |
 Recognized |
This was inspired by Gunaglo's poem, Was the Bard Mistaken, who took up a challenge to write a Sonnet using the end rhyming words from Shakespeare's 73rd sonnet.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day,
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
William Shakespeare
Here is my response.
This author took this photograph himself, but enhanced the color.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. That time of year thou mayst in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day,
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.
William Shakespeare
Here is my response.
This author took this photograph himself, but enhanced the color.
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