Poem Not Written

I had hoped to pen a poem today Before laying myself down to sleep, But I have to admit with some dismay That my emotions were not so deep. The pencil-thin line of flaming red Drawn so lightly in the morning sky Announced the sun’s rising overhead Yet left no impression upon my eye. The crisp morning air that greeted me - Rich with the scent of apple wood smoke – Must have left no mark on my memory, Nor knew the language my spirit spoke. My children’s laughter at games and play Fell on my ears like notes from a bell, Though I heard those notes so clear and gay My heart, I fear, did not listen well. The aromas from the kitchen stove Promised a meal for which I must wait, But the smell of cornbread, ham and clove Soon departed with my empty plate. The evening stars that gently twinkled Against the dark of heavenly height Sent a warm glow that lightly sprinkled On my too insensate soul tonight. I had hoped to pen a poem today Before laying myself down to sleep, But I have to admit with some dismay I had no sense of what to keep.