A LONGING LONG FORGOTTEN

A sonnet written in a modern style.

Outdoors, I find gifts for my son:

White, hollow snail shells

Rocks with holes or bits of glimmer

Fresh dandelions. 

On nature walks, his dimpled hands

Point, gather, receive.

I have always treasured birdsong

And moss on oak trees

New budding leaves, and autumn ones

Beetles, bees, mantis.

Once flung into adulthood, I

Stopped seeking birds’ nests.

Until this young one brought my heart back home 

Slow down my busy steps from whence did roam.