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Threnody

The first of May was always for play
and not to ponder lost futures upon.
But now I'll think of souls in disarray
as well as spring fresh afternoons anon.
 
I wish the glory of the season
might transform itself somewhat, somehow,
into a surplus of hope and reason
which may uplift the downturned brow.
 
I'd sweep away all thoughts of worthlessness  
and the frettings that fate will bring us thorns
instead of abundant mirthfulness,
and grace, amid cornucopian horns.
 
So when to sunshine the bleak skies give way,
may the May pole cherubs...return...to stay.
Written by MidnightSonneteer
Published
Author's Note
A sonnet my sister recovered which I had composed for the funeral of a nephew who took his own 17 year old life back in 2017.

Rest in peace Ricky...May 10th, 2017
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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