Sunday Sonnet [Without Rhyme Scheme], #13, 2015


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A morning chill that a tighter grasp of

blankets demands, toes wriggling, relaxed and

nestled safe from cares that await rising,

planting his feet on floor – so cold – to start

the long day, cloaked in fine clothes, yet feeling

a beggar inside, mental hands proffered

in asking, in grasping for funds; also

approval.  Who needs not recognition?

So demeaning.  Better he stay bound in

blankets warm, neck supported against a

pillow soft (near understanding).  Who would

give this comfort up for stale coffee and

drier pastries?  Better to remain at

home: own boss.  He yawns and starts the same day.

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2015]