Please.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCCL)
November's woods are stripped, leaves dangling thence
To add a touch of colour to detail
Sheer Death unmasked, our souls anon bewail;
The harping voice within our veins from hence
"Thanksgiving Day," as if our last defense
Is partying on a scale which'd leave the trail
With favours strewn likeas these ornge, reds' hale
Bits clinging to bare boughs in keen suspense.
Tis cracked wheat sourdough French toast, chill winds' tour
Of duty culling rain to spackle who
Would notice, snow late forecast like to cure
The foolish hopes of better, skies grey to
Bring Shakespeare's lines of region clouds as twere
To mind, forsaken calm, LORD, waiting You.
08Nov25b
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 8:48 AM UTC
Please.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCCL)
November's woods are stripped, leaves dangling thence
To add a touch of colour to detail
Sheer Death unmasked, our souls anon bewail;
The harping voice within our veins from hence
"Thanksgiving Day," as if our last defense
Is partying on a scale which'd leave the trail
With favours strewn likeas these ornge, reds' hale
Bits clinging to bare boughs in keen suspense.
Tis cracked wheat sourdough French toast, chill winds' tour
Of duty culling rain to spackle who
Would notice, snow late forecast like to cure
The foolish hopes of better, skies grey to
Bring Shakespeare's lines of region clouds as twere
To mind, forsaken calm, LORD, waiting You.
08Nov25b
Am I wearying you with these? Me hopes not.
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