Before I Sleep

Till life retires me I won’t retire all cries to uncles stalled And won’t slow down or buy the farm till Abraham has called My will as though a five-year-olds wild and dancing free Those trees of life I’ve yet to climb still calling out to me The view much clearer though ladder worn from high atop myself With passions free and burning hot each thought more deeply felt Somewhere a bugle waits for me an Angel standing by To blow my name when time abates —upon whose wings I’ll fly (Beaupre: June, 2022)