Snowfall on Opening Leaf Buds: Sonnet Guides do appear, almost invisible, Flickering through the grass beside the path, Or glimpsed flying through a gentle snowfall On opening leaf-buds, when the season’s growth Seems to halt for an hour. Who are they, though, These guides? Afterwards we thoughtlessly talk About them as ...dreams more fragile than snow Falling only to melt. So can we walk In the direction they have taken, doubting Whether it is direction or mere aimless Wandering round in circles? Will we find Anything anywhere? Silence is shouting At us: “Look up. Look down. Look back. The nameless Wonder is here. Oh why are you so blind?”
Leo Aylen was born in KwaZulu, South Africa, was educated in England and has lived in London, New York, LA. He has 5 prizes, about 100 poems in anthologies, 100 broadcast, 9 collections published, the latest The Day The Grass Came, called “a triumph” by Melvyn Bragg, “Stupendous” by Simon Callow, “An energy which could leave readers gasping” by Martyn Halsall. He often writes in strict forms.
Amethyst Review 