Prolly.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDXXXVIII)


Those Sonnets From The Portuguese culled thence
From lo, a pure heart set on fire t'avail
His love who ransomed her from Death to scale
The heights of heavn on earth, I've read til hence--?
Forgotten like some reject none would sense
But with keen scorn for sins I in betrayl
Do not know I've committed--which detail
Could buy my ransom likeas hers, fr'intents?
Thieves, scoundrels have deceived me in vain tour
Of better than this thought of Hell we to
Effect think that we know on earth, til fer
All that I make "naive" look false.  None woo
Save to steal parts of me.  Dear hope is poor.
Love is a jew'l I'm not good 'nough for too.

28Nov18b

...past my waist as her-- "to my foot's glee--"



(sonnet #MMMMMMMDVIII)


I wanted coffee, with auld sonnets thence
As erst wont, Missus Browning's sweet detail
From lo, "the Portuguese," as I sipped stale
Last ounces from four nights 'go like's good sense,
With mair than I'd known ere for all intents,
And laden praps as Roscoe was't? thought, frail
Erm, as my seeing more clearly to avail
Just how much we've in common is't? from hence.
One friend some years back said I'd be as her--
Was't cuz I begged for romance? or through
These diary pages shewed I had as twere
That lonely life Miss Barrett ere me knew?
Where now, since losing Mum I feel in poor
'Scuse kinship like my friend claimed, sold to YOU?

09Nov18d