Haha.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCLXXXVII)


My papers rumpled, torn, and sans avail
Now wreckt, how Tigger'd make me scribble thence
In lieu of words, like what? We're playing fr'intents,
This pencil, papers, folder, that detail
Called my eraser, all her toys, the trail
To fun and games, til I give up from hence,
Trying just to save my work from that pretense
Which will find all in shreds ere long, sans bail.
She likes to stand upon my shoulders, her
Game walking on my back, e'en lying there too,
But nary photos have been taken fer
Aught else to know our fun which words parse to
Effect; and Peter is more quiet. Stir
Hope in the LORD, my soul. LORD, I wait You.

08Oct25a