A very personal poem. Simple, doesn’t need an explanation. My thank you to all my readers. True conversation, went just like that.
I have so much that doesn’t ever get read, has and will never see the light of print or another’s eyes. So, when eyes are cast on my poems, I take delight and gain another child.
Yet
I lay in the sweet grass and
compose my last poem to you.
Each poem, my last
a last will and testament
of what will never pass
but must be passed on.
“To whom do you compose?”
you ask?
“My children, my dear children.”
I reply.
“What? But you don’t have any children!”
“You don’t understand, you aren’t
one of my children yet.”
Yet