When I grow old and come to know more truth
And have the time to contemplate my youth
I shall reflect upon the days gone by
And idly sit and analyze the whys
Of loves who came to share but for awhile
And looked into my eyes just to beguile
Then left and took a wing upon the wind
As sullenly to heartache I descended
Yet with another knock upon my door
I opened up as eager as before
And greeted the newest suitor with delight
Prayed that I would not become contrite
I dreamt that for a moment I had found
A heart which sang to me
a cherished sound
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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