Beats me.


(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCXLIII)


The kittens thought I should rise sooner, frail
As after nine on nary weekend, whence
I gave them cream. No Barry's 'cept what thence
Is mixt with lemon and is poor man's tale
Of tea, so I'll try coffee to avail,
And almost think it works. There's no defense.
How day is chasing noon ere I've served hence
Our breakfast, which I can't quite...which detail?
The sound of happy lapping cream in tour
Explains why there's none left in my bowl to
Assist the sugared blueb'rries, as the poor
Thought of nigh ev'ning begs I finish. Do
The math, and figure all makes sense. Bestir
In me to sing Thy praise, LORD, all of You.

16Sep25a