#thosewerethedays
You know?
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCMXV)
Oh tender, rainy morn, mists roam the vale
And haunt the dream of yonder with intense
Naught for that question, as how sparrows fence
This calm with cheerful calls, a glimpse t'avail
Of Spring, but forecast to turn bitter, frail
Warmth Winter's ruse, the blacktop's moist suspense
Set to be ice unless Thou spare us, LORD, whence
I pray and wait, t'indulge in each detail.
How "Sunday [erm] Baroque" ties up in tour
Its three-hour bit of joys, the kittens too
Pent as they know my mood, this waiting fer
That closure what drives them to wander to
And fro, my chance of solace fraught as twere
Yet full, LORD, of Thy mercies, waiting You.
28Dec25a
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 10:59 AM UTC
Well, in discussions since, I'm torn only because I cherish socializing, though I abhor the city.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMLXXII)
Out where twa rivers meet, or rather thence
Lo, at the top of that peninsla's tail,
In Calhoun County where farm houses hail
At scattered intervals, with half a sense
Of sheer depression hard in tow fr'intents,
They show me where folk lived sans plumbing's scale
As twere of "civ'lized," cell phone service frail,
Point out the pump: an outhouse their defense.
I ask how long they lived thus, and that's poor,
Cuz "all their lives!" (the answer) sez what? to
Me in effect? I canna say. We tour
Their property by A.T.V., the view
Romantic in its backwoods' fashion. Were
I thinking what, that all half seems tae woo?
18May19d
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 11:10 PM UTC