Published in Write Away Poetry

Happier times were on the horizon
as I stood in those grandiose mountains
when the panorama embraced the sun

Like prophets of old, the sparrows would run
to and hither, from branch and nook, for fans
of little dances on the horizon

All my wants and whims were softly undone
listening to the buzzing far from all man's
devices, thus I settled down to sun

Like a lizard I lay, without care one
for anything but the clarion Pan's
pipe as it sent tones down the horizon

Then, setting out to think of a good pun
for sonnet's end, I thought, as perhaps tans
could never be made equal by the sun

perhaps Othello would never have won
because one half bore Atlas' hard ton
while the other kept eyes on horizon
whilst blinded by the unrelenting sun