(sonnet #MMMMMCDXXIX)


I've rolled the phrase "white rime upon--" in frail
Excuse across my tongue oer tea's intense
Note in that morning cuppa, as defense
For something while cold porridge' stiff detail
Was forked twixt apple slices in the pale
Eye of uncertain dawn whose warming sense
Would filter shafts through skeletons I'd thence
Termed all the naked trees stance, and what's bail?
If Febry opes with silence as it were,
What's new?  Mine's colder in the frozen view
No voice breaks oer, the blueish distance poor
Light watches sans aught joy because I knew
Not to thence cherish Mum, or failed our tour
Of hours together now she's gone.  Frost cue?

01Feb16a