I have written poetry all of my life,
Intermittently over the years,
Playing at mastery,
Playing with sorcery,
Little magic spells,
Cast not with crystal and wand,
But with quill and felt tip,
Art that enchants this golem,

Enchantments wear though,
And one day,
One fateful day,
I shall write my final poem,
Cast my last spell,
And nobody,
Not even I,
Shall know when it shall be.

  1. Cassa Bassa says:

    That’s like the end time, no one knows what hour.

  2. Julydase says:

    Wonderful poem. I’ve thought the same about a lot of things—we never know when we’re doing something if it may be the last time. 💕

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