Search Poem by John Anderson

Do we put it in a smaller frame
As life carries on?
Or hide it in a closet
Like our old high school song?
Recall it through an illness
Where it translates into breath
I think it disappears
To some barren, dormant, nest

When we need it will it come
Like a bill collector calls?
Shouldn't we see it every evening?
The way God makes nights fall?

Does it knock on my door, or approach in the street?
Like a guest would visit a friend?
Or does it come like a nurse to her patients?
Whose rest she must upend

Will it come as a tap on my arm?
Or like the milkman comes to a farm?
If it doesn't write on a sticky-note
How would I know it's around?

If it preaches in a mike like a priest
I hope I can stay awake
Does it finish like a TV sitcom?
Then try to sell me some cake?

Do I have to be in trouble?
It must know if I'm just kidding
And everyone to have it
must find where hope is living