Papers and notebooks I weighed in my hands,
me against them on life's scale yes or no.
Did one or other sway me in this land?
Then arms held out in praying just thus so,
my detris did not with some wise voice speak
of worth of efforts to forget thus -give.
Silence the undigested lot did eke.
No rest or resolve, nor did Deus say, 'Live.'
I put the bundle back into the box,
a thin female paste board over its mate,
hiding a word surge with no need for locks,
sleeping seeds till daylight and time seals fate
that again would visit me still in rhyme--
I dismissed them and the light of their days.
Out of my hands and ineptitude times
till seasons for blooms blooming in sun's rays.
The stuff on the shelf could rest there in peace:
My work always starting and never done.
Some small good in the world to other's ease--
I need not rush seeing my setting sun.
