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Jenny Gordon Mar 2019
...ARGH!  Hence the title...


Spent, ere the fragile chance to what? avail,
Look how blue skies warm in dawn's welcome, whence
Don't roll a single word for aught intents
Across my tongue, jist see, and wonder, pale
As howling oer grey heavns' sheer lack, nor scale
Lo, any bit of this or that cuz sense
Drowned late on Monday night where visions dense
With oh, Victorian airs stole off wee bail.
Yes, when I've but a minute to bestir
My pencil for ah, which detail passed through?
I'm swooning sans a voice yet over her--
That girl whom lit'rature FORGOT, cuz ooh!
She was his mistress; won the world as twere
Because of that keen secret:  I've naught cue.

Yep, immersing me in all I could read on LEL aka Letitia Elizabeth Landon took my soul in a whirl back to that era and familiar visions, so much so that even after a "good night's" sleep, when I found a chance to scribble, that waltzed before me in lieu of aught else.

— The End —