(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXXIII)


Rain's ghostly eye upon the snow as whence
Erst naked trees' lone stance within that pale
Touch wear clouds' masque of aught like fragile bail,
And hours nigh weep oer this forlorn pretense,
I thought these Maple skeletons' vague sense
Of yonder just that solace to avail
Me, cept to finger't as soft winds exhale,
Favonious' voice in tow, begs we come hence.
To what, though?  Sunny jonquils' bobbing fer
Thin light as green blades pierce dead leaf mats to
Nose into being where thrushes woo the moor
To sleep at nightfall?  I can't want that view.
This mournful ache clouds' haunting veil now tour
With empty hands owns mine.  Come, I need you.

07Jan16c