Cheeky Missy

It\'s Sunday, Yet Why Do I...What?

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMDCCCXXXIX)

 

 

Red tinges last month\'s green\'ry with a sense

Of pure denouement in each last detail,

Whilst heat stirs waves in thin air like t\'avail 

Who howls oer losing Summer with July. Dense

With import, how few notice? Elsewise thence

We hasten to indulge in what wee bail

Remains ere Fall\'s conclusion rings in stale

Old Winter to stalk hearts which love pretense.

I\'ve watched the flocks of birds for weeks now stir

The painful note of is\'t sheer Death? If blue

Skies seem more bland or silent, they\'re demure. 

Ye feel it in yer bones whilst we anew

Deny what\'s chasing transient joys. It were

Grave folly since all urges we seek You.

 

25Aug24