Ya, I'll say everything, except all I know about...him.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCIII)
Dear rain whose mincing footfalls but avail The fellow working in thy moist kiss hence, High in the scaffold where that silence thence Does not quite cozen him, as he could hail Each little noise if he desires, the pale Eye of this first new day of Spring fr'intents Is tender in its frore note, with a sense Of all we cherished just in tow, to scale. And like this season of auld loves we were Taught was keen on romance, I wish he knew, Nor was as now a fragile dream roused fer My sheer distraction cuz chance thought to do Me in by circumstance. I pray in tour, Yet am afraid to ask if he does...woo.
20Mar19c
NOTE: Alas, I've taken to rising the past two mornings assuring myself that all this foolishness is passed with the previous day, to no avail. Mayhap tomorrow? I hate this idiocy.