Revised sonnet #194
The pasture whizzes past our window pane
The clouds about to loose their liquid lode
The cows chew cud in sweep of weather vane
The mountains distant stick to static mode
The carriage sways and clicks from node to node
The river shrinks till pond and dead end stream
The ram escorts the sheep across the road
The grind of groove of wheel invites track gleam
I watch as she jots down a diary meme
I love too much ideas I have of her
The right to mind free here as well I deem
I man up mute I wouldnt want to slur
I like a rustic pie the crust is crude
Insides of hearty chunks are clearly viewed
Chorus crude basic simple
