By Poet Laureate Christopher Watkins December SonnetNow the corn mazes truly are frightening;bedraggled hulking husks of a sinister thinness,looming and swaying over the tamped-down pathslittered with their fallen hides —ochre’d in the early winter darkness,they rustle at the unsympathetic winds,conspiratorial whispersinterwoven with the harsh hiss of the season. What child now dares lose themselvesamong these rasping ghouls, whose shroudscome peeling off in leprous strips? What child nowdares enter this maze of death? What child? None!For what they truly seek is not a fright,but to be startled by delight.
