Storm and Tempest

My thought for 2/12 is a sonnet that I wrote a couple of years ago for Lear in the spirit of Sonnet XII:

When I do drown the cocks that tell the clime

And spit fire, spout rain, to his odious plight,

When I see the divested king past his prime

And singe his wiry black tresses to white,

When oak trees I cleave, uproot, anatomize,

Which used to cote sheep and stock from the heat,

And those champains riched, now blighted by lies –

His brains in his heels; chilblains on his feet –

Then of his demesne will they then demean,

He among the tests of clime – Lear’s shadow,

Since scarcely kept warm by these children of spleen

And the sugar coated words he did trow.

    Then I’ll take physic and give him that patience –

    The true need – to stave their brief alliance.