Sonnet 159, The Playful Hands Of Sating White Poem by Peter S. Quinn

The playful hands of sating white and dust,
The hours of twilight, gone into the night;
When every passion, is so full of lust,
And all contents there take the fullest flight.
The ice full weather comes - revive its cast,
And give the greyly shadows and eyebrows;
For songs of summer's are now gone at last,
And all our longings full of blackish drowse.
Moody songs with their diminishing joys,
That once was gleeful - full of shades and sights;
A growing tender, these feelings destroys,
For blue and amber to these hours dim heights.
What comes and goes – only is here for a while,
Each you know, all differently to style.