A Sonnet: The Book Of Becoming Poem by Annalee Somerville

Where sky surrenders to the hush of gold,
The Earth exhales in rows of quiet prayer.
No need to chase what time no longer holds,
The soul finds stillness in the open air.

Each straw bale a hymn, wrapped gently by the light,
Each furrow scribed with lines the Spirit read,
Soft echoes of a harvest brought to sight,
And dreams once sown now resting, fully fed.

The tree stands watch, a sentinel of grace,
Its roots in wisdom, branches bowed to sky.
This sacred pause...
a consecrated space
Where breath returns and burdens learn to fly.

You've done enough, says the wind across the lea.
Now rest. Now trust. Now simply let be.