No time to write a single word
No thoughts to say what is preferred
None to proclaim and none to be heard.
All strength and power seem to be gone
Nary a glimmer, in the still before dawn
Though the pen awaits as a willing pawn.
Poor health has kept us from the task
And medicine needed from the flask
Pretense would be but a silent mask.
While some might notice, few would care
If more than blank pages stirred the air
Though it made ya think, what he shared.
The press of life comes on us hard
To steal the tales we might discard
For what we’ve done will soon be charred.
Then our last is breathed and we’re undone
No longer able to write under this sun
Thoughts to contemplate the race we’ve run.
Adieu, Farewell, the time is past
All words are ended, none shall last
A heart of joy is ne’er downcast.