Sonnettics

Marcescence is when leaves refuse to fall
They’re dead and dry and yet they still hang on
A simile for things that we recall
Like memories we thought were done and gone

Our memories are leaflet buds in Spring
And Summer’s green that rustle in the wind
It’s Autumn, yet some memories will cling
Marcesant memories we can’t rescind

And now that winter’s knocking at the door
We see these ghosts when branches should be bare
Marcesant leaves persist a little more
As if they know they’re dead but just don’t care

Know this, that memories are subtle thieves
That give us nothing but marcescent leaves.

Such regular expressions fill the air
The air in all its purity implied
It tells us we should regulate our care
Before it knows for sure we’ve never tried

As green as blessed bud, as blue as smoke
The dreams become the nightmares we had sought
Like rhymes that rise In couplets as we choke
Like bits of stolen candy no one bought

It doesn’t matter now, It’s just a word
The word is god in some poetic verse
The word of god when read becomes absurd
And frequently it goes from bad to worse

Now write this down before we both forget
It’s just a game; it doesn’t match and set.

The tale of Alice Young is sad but true
‘Twas nearly fifty years before the time
The tales of witches in New England grew
She was the first found guilty of this crime.

Connecticut was where she settled down
A place called Windsor, far from Salem’s port
A simple place to live, a river town
Where witchcraft was a thing they sought to thwart

Poor Alice was accused, then tried and hung
By zealots who accused her of the flu
A scapegoat was the fate of Alice Young
‘Twas all the justice ignorance could do

Three centuries and more* of bells were rung
Before true justice rang for Alice Young.

by Scott Ennis

*Alse Young was formally exonerated on February 6, 2017, by a unanimous vote of the Windsor Town Council.