High over head, the moon, she waits
The ground underneath, lit like a lamp.
The distance between us, one we both hate.
A seal that marks us both like a stamp.
Afternoon coffee with a sweet little smile,
After dinner dishes that you asked to do
No one had been that kind in a while
Now I couldn't imagine anyone but you.
The mornings come, as does the new day.
Little trinkets and flowers that we send
until we see the other on the fifth of May
the bonds of love will never bend.
Paper air planes fly through trees and lines,
Mostly Blue Spruce, Western White, and Ponderosa Pine
This is my sonnet for my significant otter. It's being sent out tomorrow via United States Post :). It's a little loaded but that's the way I write my pieces. I feel like our generation is coming dangerously close to loosing the art of writing. Emails and text messages don't count or cut it. People took time out of their day to write each other beautifully crafted letters, announcements, and thank yous.
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