....mebbe cuz I have no lover. [Wait, Dad oddly did too.]
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXC)
Soft mists down in the valley ere dawn thence But twinkle oer these massy treetops, pale White's fragile ghost waits thinly like a veil Which masks the greener figures waiting hence, Whileas we shovel on our ways, that sense Of romance waltzing off ere I avail Me of more than sheer notice on that scale, And ah, who listens for those songs? or whence? How maple boughs wait sans aught whisper too, Leaves shifting or half murmring as it were. You're not allowed to say the flowrs look poor, Cuz daffodils yet nod where planted to Be sunshine through July. I'm losing fer All that what was it? what few joys I knew?
11Jul17a
Perhaps the funnier thing is how this sonnet continues the thread of the previous, which latter I'd not post.