Then years ago, I had a kiddie-pool mind.
When death first hit close, I wasn't ready to die.
If you had wasted a moment's breath asking that guy
"Will your mind or body go first," he'd say "never; they'll tie,"
But now my legs are limp, pale, unhealthy, giant french-fries,
and my back, wrists and shoulders aren't that far behind.
I've been hit hard a few times, so it rattled my mind,
and I can't help but wonder how long that stays spry.
So I write like a demon, and if you asked why,
I'd say "I feel inspiration is soon to run dry,
and so am I."
No comments:
Post a Comment