My ink is drying up and my pen no longer writes smooth This just can't happen now, to many thoughts I will loose Fading away this old body, still more to write, to be heard My memories and precious images are becoming a bit blurred My hand shakes, the paper gets wrinkled as I write so fast But I must write quickly while the thoughts in there still last Some verses, as I write I laugh, often things were very funny Then the sad things, my tears make the ink blurred and runny So pass my writings down to every family child that arrives Never just store them away in some back room archives May the pages look well read, the corners torn and tattered It will be a way of telling me, to you my poems mattered Author Eileen Clark
Image ~ tattered pages on a old book of poems – Google Search
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