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(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCXCIX)


Mists hover in the valleys, white and frail,
Like spirits haunting whither, reaching thence
Across the borders for aught passing, dense
Yet thin and likeas thick arms groping. They'll
Half leer at me who's looking 'long the trail
And keen on just the sight, their presence hence
A dream of romance flirting like pretense,
Where I would lose me in't, if t'would avail.
The freeway sans much traffic, I'm in tour
Back ere tis sevn, September first as due
A hol'day. Nary school bus nor as twere
Aught else except a few like me, the view
Is calm in sheer suspense, where to bestir
Would really seem a crime. LORD, I wait You.

01Sep25a