To coda played by lonely whippoorwills,
A tiny cottage dons its dusk-dark cloak
And snuggles into undulating hills,
Its chimney twisting just a curl of smoke
To prove there’s life within these rough-hewn walls.  
We open now the gate across the lane  
That leads us through the leaves of early fall    
Up to a single window’s glowing pane —
A pane through which we cannot help but see
The source of all the bluish light inside,
Beholding in the room a huge TV  
And two old folks who seemingly reside
Within this thatched and humble palace,
To watch each night  Debbie Doing Dallas

(2004)

*Artist Thomas Kinkade paints sentimental pictures of old English cottages.

sonnet satirical

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