For Years/ A Miser Of Every Minute Poem by Shalom Freedman

For Years/ A Miser Of Every Minute



FOR YEARS/ A MISER OF EVERY MINUTE

For years
A miser of every minute
For my work.
And now near old age
I understand
All that time given to works
Never to be read,

And so
A seeming tranquility.

If all my time wasted
Why be a miser
Any longer?

And yet,
What have I done?
Can I somehow still
Do something?

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