This is my first sonnet, an Ozymandia
(I apologize for the internal rhyme scheme, which is compulsive)

When still, those trees, under stars, pulse grows
Imperceptible, neath black stealth mirage
The secrets hid life that no one knows
Beyond deep midnight’s operatic corsage

Movements crept through rooted muted Burroughs
Pensive, oh, careful–none should discover
These trees of night reach, leaning toward each
Be it known that they groan for their lover

Descend, oh, Autumn’s grand limb-collision
Chilled air twists soft as leaves drop like speech
This waltz defies the reasoned eyes new vision
Soils claim signatures left by movements deft
Outstretched arms found earth cannot imprison
Guarded seclusion, these souls in hill’s cleft

©All right reserved to Marck Rigginspoets