Saturday, September 21, 2013

2am thoughts on a Saturday morning [sonnet]

To dwindle yet remain
is our destiny perchance
up till the seventh plane
it is all a fine romance

we brew tea & we try
to accomplish this or that
understated yet wry
maybe sums up where we're at

as days & weeks unfold
there's a tinge of autumn now
while neither young nor old
there's a wrinkle on the brow

perhaps we're more or less
interfused with happiness

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