. . . . then what?

lately things have slowed
right down to a creep
my ways themselves have shown
my hills are so damn steep. . .

all my patience sorta flowed
far beyond my keep
and some farout harvest
i know i'll never reap. . .

blinked inside a heartbeat
from another page of time
i'm just another poet
who hasn't got a rhyme. . .

1981