Hymn of Comfort
Though countless years have lapsed, I still perceive
your sparkle in September brume. If wilting,
I’m replenished when I catch your lilting
voice or feather-touch upon my sleeve.
Refreshing like a west-wind through the yews
in dog days heat, your peony perfume
revitalizes wafting round my room.
When tossed in sleepless waves, all thoughts askew,
I hear familiar strains of Calon Lan;
then drift into a soporific cave,
discovering the tranquil pool I crave.
As timbres linger, threads begin to darn
the frayed perimeters of life’s debris,
repair my yearning for your company.
by Eira Needham
Editor’s Note: This sonnet uses the form to weave memory into an ode of remembrance.