L14:  No, *****, but...enjoy the moment.



(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXXVIII)


The mourning dove ere twilight yield calls, whence
Orange winks upon thet waking thought's detail,
And lo, I hear it softly coo.  Grey mists in frail
Nigh ghostly touch a thin suggestion, thence
Do maples faintly shiver in suspense?
I thank the LORD for that voice on the pale
First notes of whither, erst wont to avail
My soul, and dawn sifts through to crown that sense.
How Joey worked "each day this week," yet fer
All that's forever on my mind.    What, to
Effect, now does the culver's song as twere
Mean?  How I used to know.  Or thought I knew.
Now like a memry of sweet days lost, poor
Though what be?  Does it bless our hopeful dew?

05Jul17b