May 6, 2021
New words I pen most every day,
There’s always something more to say.
I don’t know what will yet unfold,
How long before the words grow cold.
The days turned into weeks, then months,
The words still come, no need to hunt.
They’ve multiplied. I’ve hundreds now.
Most days a rhyme, I don’t know how.
Perhaps they grow inside of me
To help me share the things I see,
Not as a scholar, teacher, sage,
More like a daily journal page.
Just words and thoughts put into rhyme,
Perhaps they’ll pass the test of time.
The words that linger once they’re cast
Provide a glimpse into the past.