Plinks

Drip-drip-drip, rain slides off the sheet-iron roof,
Plink-plink-plinks onto the wayward tin can
Placed by wily storms or fickle wind’s goof,
Who can rightly say, be it beast or man?

The rain cares not where the gentle drips fall,
Nor gives a thought as the plinks softly sing
To small ears listening behind safe walls,
Lulled to sleep by the drip-drip and plink-plink.

Silently they creep on tiny wet feet
Beneath a cracked pane of misted raised glass.
Aqueous drips and plinks, seldom they meet
Those to whom they sing at two AM past.

Plinks slowly lessen, lightly tread away,
Follow the drips as night steps into day.

©2021 KT Workman


(Note: A Shakespearean (English) sonnet consists of 14 lines written in iambic pentameter, and usually has 10 syllables per line. It has three quatrains and a couplet. Rhyme scheme: a-b-a-b, c-d-c-d, e-f-e-f, g-g.)


Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Published by

KT Workman

KT Workman grew up in the rural South without the benefit of cell phones or the Internet, a time and place that has heavily influenced her writing. To this day, when she puts pen to paper—or fingers to keyboard—nine times out of ten her mind veers south onto that old, familiar road. It goes home. KT resides in Arkansas where she writes a wide variety of gothic and speculative fiction, poetry, and dabbles in watercolor painting and amateur photography.

8 thoughts on “Plinks”

    1. Although I took French in high school (that was the only foreign language offered at my school back in the age of dinosaurs), I don’t remember much of anything except how to say “My name is Kathy” and a few other words here and there. And for sure, I can’t remember how to write out anything, so I can’t interpret your line above. But I’m sure it was probably a nice poem, or it wouldn’t have been included in the class lessons.
      Thanks for dropping by. 💙

      Liked by 1 person

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