Covey of Quail
(english sonnet)

Alone I trudged, along a lane,
my breath in misted clouds exhaled,
with swirling thoughts which must remain
inside and close, suppressed, curtailed.

For there are times we do not dare
to risk, by bringing to the light,
the musings that we cannot share,
that keep us from our sleep at night.

And suddenly, before my stride,
a whistling flutter, soft and frail,
and strutting forward, puffed with pride-
a mother and her baby quail.

How small but sure that covey seemed!
-and I went home to sleep ... and dreamed.

© 2011 Katharine L. Sparrow