Let's not pin down WHY I've cherished rain and somber oboe concertos, shall we?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCXCV)


There are ne puddles, just that drooling trail
Left by the gutter's mouth as I look hence
For any small detail to augur thence
E'en half a note of whither in this pale
Eye of forgotten dawn, moist on that scale
With fragile rain.  Naught quivers in suspense,
No, not my soul now either.  All fr'intents
Is quite foresworn as I feign what, t'avail?
If nonchalance is pretty, let's bestir
It to cavort across the stage anew.
I'd feign lose me to rain's soft calm as twere,
Yea, fly away upon those wings we knew
By instinct, though we could not see them, poor
As saying.  No sparrow calls, and what would woo?

21Mar19a