Poems From:

With a Will




I did not know you thought yourself
a pundit and a pedagogue.
I envisioned a dialogue:
you delivered a monologue.




I am weary of this body.
It plods along like an old nanny,
               out of milk
               and a far cry from honey.

It doesn't dance like it used to,
it doesn't run and jump
and turn somersaults:
it barely flies.

On the other hand,
it still sits
with increasing stillness
and it breathes
quite deliciously.

So I might as well love it
while I've got it.

Soon enough
it will give up the goat.