Now April dogs our sunny minutes, pale Blue skies with nary cloud to mar that sense As orange 'non splashes buildings in defense Of rosy sunset just where dinner's bail, The biscuits cut ere that eye cease t'avail, And curtains drawn while steamy soup fr'intents Give us cause to reflect, black night what'd fence Dessert as we talk oer the future's tale. I roll the first words 'cross my tongue as't stir 'Fore butter gives flour cause to be anew Sheer dough, that haunting sense light rouses fer Auld memries of lost days what winks unto My soul, though's but March first. Is it sae poor To feel it in our bones likeas twould woo?
This is cheerier than what I've been inking lately, plagued with blue thanks to the sunny suggestion of April, sewing restoring me to the memories I'd been avoiding--Mum gone and me a stranger in this world sans a home. Haha, laugh at me.