the spikes of straight, but profusely eccentric palms
or the way the paddies shiver in the breeze.
its vastness controlled with an exact grace
that knows to stop just short of river banks.
for the conch shell’s deep-throated, tranquil song
that sets the dawn saffron hour alight.
Linked to FormForAll@dVerse
Posted because we were talking here about homesickness of the expat variety triggered by autumn recently, and because I love sonnets.