Poem: Fall

A Shakespearean Sonnet: Fall

The leaves in my backyard are turning brown

And all the birds are starting to fly south

Less leaves are on the trees than on the ground

There is a certain dryness in my mouth.

The air is cooling down or cooling off

The wind has just begun to get a chill

And more and more I start to get a cough

I think I’m on the verge of falling ill.

I always get this way when winter comes,

A melancholy hue to my new tone

What happiness I hold must turn to crumbs

And there’s a great old sadness I have known.

But spring will come, just like it always does

And happiness, like flowers, always grows.

Author Note: We return to poetry with another sonnet, this time written for an English class last year. Though I never like writing for a grade, I'm really happy with this poem. It handles the meter better than my first attempt at a sonnet, and has some nice symbolism. I can never go as far into the poem's subject matter as I would like with sonnets, but the structure does work pretty well here.