The world turned back ’round
and said, “You’ve suffered long enough, old man.”
May I say that I love you?
The words vault, skitter, and chase
each other like butterflies,
and seep out of me,
out of every pore.
I may say them,
if I say them unashamed,
and with earnest heart.
Ah me … you, this strange, singular life.
To love and be astonished by it.
Dear Brad:
You are a real poet! wonderful!
Oh thanks Alan!!