(sonnet #MMMMMMMCCXLIII)
So, if I wait until the morrow, pale
As aught excuse, we might continue thence
This theme: I meant to scribble–for intents.
Espresso. With sweet conversation, bail
For many years, passe, lost in betrayl
Since April was’t? 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. O tis a poor
Suggestion. I cooked lunch with mishaps fer
Reminders of the LORD’s great mercies: new.
24Jun18
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how refreshing
Thank you very much!