(sonnet #MMMMMMMCCXLIII)


So, if I wait until the morrow, pale
As aught excuse, we might continue thence
This theme:&nbsp;&nbsp;I meant to scribble--for intents.
Espresso.&nbsp;&nbsp;With sweet conversation, bail
For many years, passe, lost in betrayl
Since April was't?&nbsp;&nbsp;This morning likeas hence
We'd never ceased, I sip with Dad, a sense 
Of sweeter hours in tow as if t'avail.
And Wordsworth oer last bits of coffee, to
Effect where Sunday afternoon in tour
Could don a sense of happier years we knew
When Mum was still with us.&nbsp;&nbsp;O tis a poor
Suggestion.&nbsp;&nbsp;I cooked lunch with mishaps fer
Reminders of the LORD's great mercies:&nbsp;&nbsp;new.

24Jun18