her.
(sonnet #gofigure)
The Ides of March seemed far less that detail
To reckon with til now, where Death laughs hence
In triumph oer aught joys, and shows pretense
Up as the falsehood that it is. Avail
Me how, thus left behind to what? Where's bail?
I do not have a life to live, fr'intents,
Nor future in this wretched scene. Tis thence
For others, not myself. There is no trail.
Franz Joseph quipped, "I'm spared naught!"--why bestir
His cry whenas I heard the news?! I do
Not know. Bewailing, cry that as it were,
As if twas frae the Scriptures. Why me too?!
And Empress Sissi kept on walking, her
Dress soaked with blood, as LORD, seems I do too.
15Mar26a