"...nothing really matters [anymore]--"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIII)
Where blue heavns softly yield to orange' detail
And robins 'gain renew dear Mavis' sense
Of April gloaming with that song fr'intents,
E'en breaking off to scold as wont, the frail
Warmth sifted out while lo, a plane t'avail
'Non passes over, sparrows gaily fence
This calm with chatter, traffic likeas thence
Wont: I would sleep; yes, laugh, in sheer betrayl.
Don't let me cull to mind what tis as twere.
Who gives a hoot tis Friday night? I do
Not care so much if I could just, in poor
Excuse, forget, and breathe. Pink 'gins tae woo,
Now gathring on the East, and Nigel's tour
Of music oddly plays, the Scriptures too.
22Mar19c