...I guess.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCCXXXVI)
November's trees are naked, sporting thence
But piecemeal bits of leaves, as aught detail
Swears that Game Over is the rule sans bail,
This riot of sheer crimson haunting hence
My path, with yellows aged in keen suspense,
And greens foresworn whilst ornge is old, the trail
To yonder clearly laid, til I'll avail
Me as I can, aware the joy's pretense.
Leaves crunch now underfoot, in piles as twere
Forgotten by our haste to be anew
Both here and there, til nothing's left and's poor,
What shall we allus be? How see past to
The end of time, where all we knew in tour
Is gone, and Thou, LORD, only art our view?
01Nov25b
Nov 9, 2025
Nov 9, 2025 at 11:22 AM UTC
...I guess.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCCXXXVI)
November's trees are naked, sporting thence
But piecemeal bits of leaves, as aught detail
Swears that Game Over is the rule sans bail,
This riot of sheer crimson haunting hence
My path, with yellows aged in keen suspense,
And greens foresworn whilst ornge is old, the trail
To yonder clearly laid, til I'll avail
Me as I can, aware the joy's pretense.
Leaves crunch now underfoot, in piles as twere
Forgotten by our haste to be anew
Both here and there, til nothing's left and's poor,
What shall we allus be? How see past to
The end of time, where all we knew in tour
Is gone, and Thou, LORD, only art our view?
01Nov25b
Don't look at me.
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