ON THE ONE HUNDREDTH AND THIRTY-FOURTH DAY OF THE YEAR

These days of ours just slip away, like the water

flowing in the brook runs, cold, over and around

your extended hands; cup them, dip them

below the surface, raise your cupped hands -

now you have a little of the brook. This water

is the memories you carry in your mind. Now

try and bring it back to your home in your

cupped hands. What you have when you arrive

is what you will save of your past life, until

the end, when the brook runs dry.

16.05.2023

#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse