Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jenny Gordon May 2019
Pretending, feigning.  I said that was the rule of the day.  cough,cough  


If we forgot the merry dance erst thence
Wont to ring in this month which Shakespeare's scale
Of notice put down as not lo, t'avail
As perfect as whom he thus cherished, whence?
The winds are ghostly with a teasing sense
In tour of fragile warmth as sparrows hail.
Then ah, the Goldfinch seems to laugh, th'exhale
Likeas a whisper who maunt love from hence?
Did I swear I was "done pretending" fer
Which moment?  Yet who shall not smile now through
Th'effect of these sweet songsters?  I am blue
And would far rather weep, but tears as twere
Won't come.  A robin scolds and scents astir
Upon the wind's suggestion say twon't do.

Because I told myself I'd NOT write to, nor  Because you know good and well that I care so much about you that it makes me want to weep.  Or didn't you know that?  
*NOTE:  I began the following sonnet first, but couldn't bear to finish it.

— The End —