I will, seriously.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXII)


It musta been a west wind that curved thence
The dripping stream as lo, in sheer betrayl
An icicle likeas a dagger'd hail--
Some scimitar hung from the eaves for sense
Replies at blueish gloaming as I hence
Glance up to notice that cold thing's detail
Which arcs in layered fashion as the pale
Light dwindles on a Friday evning, whence?
Swear refried beans are NOT enough, as fer
Good measure we down Little Caesar's to
Effect, the pepperoni pizza cure
For fevered appetites, with play to do
That treat in style as I am dragged off, poor
Though my cries, "I have dishes--!" And what's new?

15Feb19b