“Every Age”*


Every Age its pain;

Every Place its mute horrors:

Yet, both yield flowers!

 

  • (A 4:22 a.m. awakening forced me to pen and notebook for this.  I tried twice – earlier – to put it off: it was freezing outside and not much better inside, and I made a solemn vow “I will remember and write it down after the sun stirs my bones.” Wouldn’t listen; wouldn’t take that lame promise – again – the pregnant phrases wormed over three full pages, written by the light of a one-diode Sidewinder handcrank phone-charger (which fits not any phone I know but provides a winderful** spotlight for midnight excursions for cookies-n-milk or even an insistent haiku wanting its page-time.  I tried – twice – to edit “winderful** spotlight…” but the newly coigned word kept insisting.  Worse than small dogs, I tells ya! Poems! Baah! Humbug!)

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