...just arrive at your own perverse conclusion sith that's what academia and its ilk forever do with artists' work.
If I note that he shoveled in (t'avail)
His pj's, like the man whose showr from thence
Would cleanse all to effect, and thought fr'intents
For lo, the umpteenth year, of how (in pale
Excuse) this exercise can cull to scale
Erm, cardiac arrest, tae think from hence
In looking on that ****** landscape--whence?!
To die in shovling could be sweet...is't frail?
Or rather, I am, mebbe. Dawn's breath pure
And crisp; to shovel heartning; lonely too,
Why did that eerie thought rise up as twere
Upon the heels of vague concern, to do
Was that a caper in morn's eye?! And YOUR
Thin protest I'd not die soon...was it true?
Seriously, though....where DID that thought come from that it'd be downright lovely if I died of cardiac arrest in the middle of shoveling snow?!
Watching anime again lately, the teeny-boppers eagerly asking each other for "contact info" I now think to want that, but it'd do no good since I never call guys.
Not gloaming, but a fragile note that sense
Culls as the maples' silent leaves shift, pale
Light on the waning, and blue's soft detail
Is clouds 'non painted to effect that hence.
Lo, green by dint of shadows deepens, whence
This calm that tiptoes 'cross the moor t'avail
Knows aye, the hollows are alive to scale,
Nor frogs asleep now nightfall beckons thence.
I wonder if Joe thinks of me as twere,
Or whether dreams are mine alone tae stew
Oer, who 'non miss those eyes sunglasses' poor
Blind's kept me from enjoying two weeks now too
Erm, many. I'll just wait, and pray. Assure
Me nothing. He is moving fast thinks who?!
Yes, that's the question...what?
— The End —