An Old Poet

An old poet

arrives at a

reading,

sits alone,

waits his

turn.

 

He holds

old words

close to

his still

beating

chest.

 

To the room, to

some empty chairs,

to other poets gathered,

too young to know,

the old man reads

what he holds.

 

He may forget

an old poem’s

reason,

but an old poet

never forgets

why he reads

them.

 

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2 thoughts on “An Old Poet

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