if the poems
birthed from my soul
might be, like my days
upon this earth , numbered. . .
For recently that place - where
my seedling thoughts once sprouted in
abundance - has lain nearly fallow.
And so it is I’m brought to contemplate. . .
How long can poems keep springing forth from me?
Yes, days are fleeting, but looking to
sky, I see infinity. . . so
I wish on boundless stars that
thoughts will yet appear to
an unposted oldie