Those Steps - Sonnet
P
Peter S. Quinn
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Some days are empty to the beating hearts
Upon the nights of mirror procession
Where every flow in struggling still starts
From what there falls in fiery concession
The hours of plumage will be valiant day
When on to memory they unsubmerged
And gave their earth to the building of clay
That living and working from each converged
The days you wing again to higher flight
From the withered hours of doings done before
And reach those numbers unfaltering height
In breaking new billows to make ashore
Those steps unyielding to reach out and find
And leave old broken somewhere behind
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