...asking if I'd "--left the kitchen because it was too hot?" as I'd brownies in the oven and dinner warming on the stove.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVIII)


Lo, nary voice flits through this warm pretense
Whose eye is April's in a trice, the pale
Blue heavns white clouds dim with four geese' detail,
And yes, a silent flock of birds which thence
Fly past, light flashing off their wings, a sense
Of deathly naught held like a notice frail
Warm hours are but a tease, as sparrows fail
To merrly answer, whiles I feign what hence?
Thin nonchalance, just as last night in tour
Where I "performed" sae poorly with a crew
Of local poets at the Lit Fest.  Were
Their kindness not Thy mercies, LORD, what through
Our vain hours should we answer?  Is't sae poor
I cherish 'gain these minutes I once knew?

27Jan18