"...and Death to me subscribes--"
(sonnet #MMMMMMCMXX)
How fragile light draws shadows up to fence
Our passage to and fro, ne groundhog's scale
Of is't author'ty? as blue heavns avail
Long naked boughs where last Fall leaves' brown sense
Half shivers or just waits in dead suspense.
This eye of April whose bulbs know th'exhale
Is but a whisper of frore breath own bail
And, buried, shift now to the hours' intents.
If I had inked how gloaming 'gan to stir
As rosy blushes warmed the vacant blue
'Lone on the West ah, what? I could not, fer
All that, yet wondered as I sifted through
The flour and leavning if dawn would be poor
Or sans a blot as lo, tis for that cue.
02Feb18a