Sunday, October 13, 2013


An ode to me and every "he" that lets the ink roll free

He shamed his pen; it rolled again
across the stark white page;
then hidden in some dank desk drawer
it yellowed with old age.

How years do tell a sordid tale;
and time is hell on man.
the fragile page outlasted him;...
Death was his final fan.
                 --Monty Wheeler

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