My time has come, I feel alone,
alone with thoughts and memories.
If I could make these thoughts my home,
I'd bow, show them I am pleased.
But, day by day I drift along,
adrift in things long time past;
They hover with me, though they're gone,
like flowers of spring that ne'er last.
The younger ones of family,
pass me like I don't exist.
They come and go, away from me.
I wonder, did I cause this.
Enough about moaning, bitching,
earthly life's not about me.
I'll find something that I'm rich in,
keep trying to write poe'try.
August-2021
|
