Is it "funny" how miniscule my writing is when's done from the back seat?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXI)
Up north, blue smiles at intervals (to scale)
Frae stubbled fields' expanse, 'non rolling thence
From one side of the view to th'other, dense
Half greyish region clouds, south, where signs hail
With "Quincy in so many miles;" how pale,
Long minutes draw up navy to gird sense
Framed to a modern "christian" novel, whence
I spell out "bored" to academya's tale.
Does rain cull ghostly mists to romance fer
All that green woods off in the distance? Do
We drive straight to their farm? can't now as twere,
The Illinois and Mississippi too
Far swollen, roads closed. What I've known, is't poor?
Suffice it, "city" boots swear "rural" is new.
18May19c