(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