On a cold and brown, old December day,
she swapped those gold stacks for a single fold.
Before her, pyramids lined up of gold
Her hopes were malleable as new clay
wrapped in the dress of remembrance, she prayed
Triangled roads swirling around her, bold
The air was curling with vines, heart untold
Violets waited, unloud with a faye
She ostentatiously measured her hair
and looked left, beyond her plane, beyond ours,
to upturned pyramids, she paid no hours
Her brows, eyes, and lips dourly reclined
to the Opal Land, “I wish I was there”
while nine tassels held onto their sea wine.
Petrarchan Sonnet by Diana Norma Szokolyai