....mebbe cuz I have no lover.  [Wait, Dad oddly did too.]


(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCXC)


Soft mists down in the valley ere dawn thence
But twinkle oer these massy treetops, pale
White's fragile ghost waits thinly like a veil
Which masks the greener figures waiting hence,
Whileas we shovel on our ways, that sense
Of romance waltzing off ere I avail
Me of more than sheer notice on that scale,
And ah, who listens for those songs? or whence?
How maple boughs wait sans aught whisper too,
Leaves shifting or half murmring as it were.
You're not allowed to say the flowrs look poor,
Cuz daffodils yet nod where planted to
Be sunshine through July.  I'm losing fer
All that what was it? what few joys I knew?

11Jul17a