November 4, 2015

Winter


I've no memory at all
of before I was born,
no hidden life,
trying too hard to please,
wiling away my time,
making believe
everything is fine.
If I'll be going soon,
then I would go
now, for I've no
reason to wait
as last leaves fall,
and snow drifts around
these barren trees,
where you rest so still,
beneath winter's freeze.