Sunday Sonnet [without rhyme scheme], #8, 2015


[Image sourced from]

She awoke to the sound of rain.  It was

her favourite morning music; reverse

lullaby.  She’d wriggle down deeper in

the bed, pull the duvet up beneath her

chin and sigh contented.  No need to rise

on days like this, she’d drift back off to sleep.

The rooftop percussion encased her, a

cocoon of sound permitting return to dreams –

but changed.  Though her mind sought the sweet image

of before, this new, stolen dormancy

brought darker thoughts: changed faces, blurred concerns

in foggy form lent by external climes

to her Morpheus-soaked brain.  Outside the

rain fell harder.  Her room fell chill and dark.

[Copyright N R Nolan © 2015]