George Beecher Poems

We are like apples - Each rolls
Around taking its own course
But all eventually have the juice
Squeezed out - Some are thrown out
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You think you've got troubles -
There is always someone having worse -
Your trouble is you've got
A terminal disease called Vita Brevis -
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A winter of words falls over me
Like night - All I can speak
Is snow to whirl and drift The winter quarters of my heart
Withdraw from challenges of warmth
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Why the world - Why are we here -
You may ask how but never why -
The world is always flowing -
Heraclitus said long ago
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