Soot to Ashes

A sonnet derived from The Chimney Sweeper by William Blake. A very sad poem about the life of a chimney sweeper, and a subtle protest to child labor.

With my hair trimmed short

I wriggle through a tunnel,

Blackness entangling my limbs.

Below me sits darkness,

Eerily still,

But look up!

A hint of light,

Just a drop,

Enough for me to reach for.

As I fall

And know my bones will rest

I find comfort in the knowledge that

My work is done

And my soot-filled skin will turn to ashes.

Author's Note

2 sonnets in one day? I'm on a roll.