M'hm.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMLXXXIII)


Night sifts through sans aught fanfare til the frail
Light yields to gloaming, where I'm busied thence
In shuffling site to site, with no time hence
To spare, for all I'm scheduled, maps sans bail
Confusing me til I am late; then which detail?
How Cynth'ya calls when I can't pick up, whence
Spin off the weary hours in sweet talk, sense
Half unaware time's passing, like'd avail.
Oh! how Thy mercies, LORD, prevail in tour,
For I could not have done aught sans Thee, Who
Has kept and keeps us ever. Back home, stir
Hot cocoa up for our dessert, cuz betime to
Effect seems better with warm milk as t'were,
And let us praise Thee 'lone, oh LORD, as due.

11Jan25b