A Sonnet

Alas, the days do slip beyond our viewWhere prior reminiscence lingers old‘Tis on the down-slope we find ourselves, trueAnd yonder behaviors find themselves boldWhile around us these times do wreathe us firmAnd memory sweet doth fill the senses grandThe hope is fixed; the fortnight we will learnShall hold for us a rarity well-planned‘Tis beyond the…