An Octogonarian's Story Poem by Eric Bult

As recent memories quickly fade and those
Of long ago remain like yesterday
It's fortunate that poetry I chose
To entertain my hours, I would say.
Pure reading, whilst providing endless hours
Of pleasure and intelligent delights,
Needs little use of one's constructive powers
That vanish as the stars on cloudy nights.
To write a sonnet does necessitate
Formative power, as symphonic work
Uses metre, rhyme and number to create
In sound a visual delightful artwork.

Though memory sadly fades, my poetry
Ensures that I retain my sanity.
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