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Here’s one of my newest sonnets:

<span style=”text-decoration: underline;”>Dangers of Hunting</span>

The fog flows around me,

Engulfing the world in opal white;

I step carefully, unable to see

The trees beyond my rifle sights.

A slip and a tumble,

Madly I grab at the roots

As small rocks rumble down

Into the ravine beneath my boots

I shudder as the fog lifts-

The stream far below twinkles;

The hundred-foot fall I barely missed

Will add some old-man wrinkles.

I pull myself up, brush off the dirt,

And continue on my hunt.