POETRY BOOK THREE: Your Writing Hand

Scatter the pages of a tattered volume,
Save the ones the wind blows back;
So Nature edits leaves and sands,
Rebind the pages returning to your hands,
Forget the lost words, you won’t lack.

Leaves swirl in a whirl of the wind,
Lost pages fly to the eyes of other friends;
So Nature passes on the thinking;
Day and night continue blinking,
And I wonder where my words have been.

Long ago I put the words together,
And said, “I love you,” to another,
My words were echoed back sincere,
But time goes by and every year,
The wind undoes the work my words had done.

|| My Poetry ||