Bill Grace Poems

The poet's job is to write,
publication or even fame is incidental,
Emily Dickinson proves this.
Part of the poet's job is to write some truth
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Death is such a profound thing
that once we join it we no longer sing
but tarry with mountains, streams, stars and hills
in an expanding universe
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A good professor once told me,
who had gone to war,
how the ladies of the night
had a particular and peculiar relish
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The man who taught me
the phrase: "Joy of Life"
may have given it to me first in French
ultimately he found life so miserable
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Discovering you
at close to life's sunset
eyes with moist emotion
I understand that grisly determination to eat
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If she worked as she lived
an opportunity was missed
in not lowering the flags to half mast
in salute to her passing from us.
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When Eleanor Roosevelt came to the school
I was too young to understand the significance
of The Great Lady coming up Uncle Don's walk.
I will never understand the man
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When death comes
and words no longer roll from pen
still I will sing
in some choir far away
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