You are allowed to guffaw at me, considering what came before this.



(sonnet #MMMMMMDCCCLXXXI)


Snow.  Likeas if what, eh? mists' fragile veil
Haunts gathring darkness as white caps from hence
That thought of April in the wings, suspense
Put back to sleep with frozen kisses' scale
Of niceness was't?  Rain's tripping through t'avail
Culled naked lawns in yellowed Death, which thence
Are tucked 'neath that chill coverlid, and whence
Straps on its boots 'gainst crunching forth, hope pale?
Nah.  It is Janry still, and violets' tour
Shall not be guaranteed until the dew
Once more rests silver on green carpets fer
Soft light and warmer hours lost under blue
Skies nary iciness skulks in as twere.
Tonight we'll shiver, glad the furnace knew.

14Jan18c