This Year
This year I'll relish every day,
Enjoy each hour as it comes by.
No part unused will get away,
No minutes worth will I deny.
How many left before I die?
I've spent my many months and years,
So carelessly without a thought.
Or wasted them with baseless fears,
Knowing recapture can't be bought,
Forgetting the lessons I've been taught.
This is the year of precious time
And filling every empty space,
The year I write the perfect rhyme
Contrived with such exotic grace,
I'll have my own exalted place.
Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2015
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