Cheeky Missy
Cut Me Some Slack...I Have a Crazy Streak
...was that so bad?
I Did Enjoy the Thought
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCLXXX)
The \"doing it from scratch\" left cans fr\'intents
And boxed goods out, and we do gain, own bail
In such, whereby the dishes in betrayl
Are tastyer by far, so, what of pretense?
Shall I craft my own creamed corn in defense?
Why not forget the dish and just avail
Me of steamed corn? and cornbread? Which detail
Sells me on what to choose, if I\'d have sense?
Since we did not make cass\'roles much as t\'were,
I\'ll just forego the task. No reason to
Craft it except the waltzing thought is poor
Where I\'ve too much else now to ver\'ly do.
This choice is not a winner, but in tour
What is. Oh LORD, redeem me now, won\'t You?
08Apr25a
...it\'s like I dare not breathe.
Cue Paul McCartney\'s \"Yesterday\"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCLXXXI)
If twas a dream which I\'d long since to scale
Forgot, come, did I blow it for intents?
Or was the day-long party fine? All thence
Knew something was afoot, though each detail
Seemed in its place, where pizza to avail
Us was all MY suggestion, and a sense
The cat would make the mice to pay owned whence;
Keen silence leers e\'en yet upon the trail.
Tis not \"I never dared to think\" as t\'were,
Nor that I did concieve of all we\'d do,
But that the mists became so dense in tour
I could not see to whither? What we knew
Was as a dream quite vanished. To bestir
A mention might lead where? LORD, save us too.
08Apr25b
...have I?!
Tell April I Have Pledged My Troth
(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMCCLXXXII)
Sweet golden hours of Spring the sparrows fence
With cheery calls, if I could stay here, frail
As aught \'scuse, lo, forever, seems naught\'d fail
To yield sheer respite to the soul, and whence
Could paint its nails or take a trip cuz sense
Would nestle here in soft content. The trail
To yonder\'s out of sight whiles I avail
Me thus, nor shall I worry \'bout defense.
Haha. If only. Green lawns note as t\'were
The buds and chartreuse baby leaves which blue
Heavns in benign glance bathe afresh in tour,
And songs flit now from ev\'ry cove; all woo.
I could pretend twas not a dream, but\'s poor.
Tis now and shall not last: LORD, I wait You.
08Apr25c