That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
But be contented when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away, My life hath in this line some interest, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me too, you will see’st the glowing of such fire.
Prediction re Project 2025 effects: en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Where_L...
Sonnet 72 ❤️💔 I know this one by heart after a few libations
seasonal affective disorder
Bravo, Edward and thy craft well constructed