Forget me, then, if ‘tis your lot you must
Let our time together turn to dust.
A film that cloaks my books and jigsaw puzzles
Now long ignored as your world jumps and bustles;
Where friends and work obscure me from thy view
And loneliness creeps o’er me in our pew
While I recall the times you loved me best
When all was said and done I was your rest
But ‘tis not so, the present makes me wretched-
The time you wish constricted I wish stretched
Nevermore, the angel in your sight-
Nevermore, each day’s last rays of light
Dear Cinders weeping as the grate she swept;
Cinders sweeping off the tears she wept.
This is not a sonnet sequence.