the poet now old and ever so weak
writing a last few scribblings meek
reflecting upon lifes last moments
breath draws in and out- most spent
though this does make one awful sad-
all the neighbors think the poet mad
the eyes they close and heart it slows
one candle near- flickers and glows
out in those streets the breezes blew
the young they sang and love was new
though in dark of quiet room- all alone
distant fleeting memories were shown
there- no simple remedy or death cure
poets life passed quickly by in pictures
one soul ever loosing creativitys power
remains soon under earth and flowers
lines penned throughout long lived life
rhymes mostly flowing, breathing bite
remembering the sweetest loves kiss
these are the things the poet will miss
as death came knocking upon the door
the poet sighed, i will pen no more
from the lowest point the ocean cried
above the clouds bright was the sky
¸•´¸´¨) ¸•*
(¸.•´ (¸.•´.•´¸¸✿•.¸¸✿
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