Okay?



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMDCCXXXII)


September's slipping through my fingers hence
As erst wont, heat upon the rise sans bail,
Fall's early crew of altered leaves a trail
To yonder, on the ground. The vain pretense
T'will never end, or else in sheer defense
Shall be here so much longer we'll avail
Ourselves in plenty time at leisure, frail,
Nor but the usual ruse for all intents.
I know because it's haunting me as twere,
Now tugging on my sleeve to swear I knew
Before twas ended. Guess I do, this tour
Of green'ry sifting through the hours nigh through,
Til noticing is hardly 'nough, and poor.
Oh LORD, our time's in Thy hands; we wait You.

11Sep25c