Half pastel moon, carded cloud veils
that hesitate in solute haze.
Here, nipping breeze puts March in place
but high above the cirri laze.
A lemon sun, cloud-banked, travails,
then drilling through, thrusts blinding face.
Spring's fuse is lit, the slow-match long
no time-lapse to astound the mind.
And why should we wish life away?
Where time so trickles, call it kind -
each dawn and dusk puts minutes on
swelling to equinoctial day.
Above my hedge the pastel moon
in my romance is looking on
and coy in cloud-wisps winks her eye;
wind-puppeted, the yew is swung,
but willingly plays old buffoon
in superego harmony.
....................
Just a bit of verse. The rhyme scheme of the stanza is a,b,c,b,a,c, with octosyllabic lines.
