Hurry Poem by Marilyn Jean

Yesterday
I wrote 50 again
I recall then
Mary wrote 50 too
All for the Muse
But shared with you
And that changed all
Now
A grey squirrel
Jumped and sat there
On the fence, looking
At me through my window
Its black little eyes
Sees me sitting, inside
Warm and lost wondering
Then
Busy rushes in the tree
Unlike the mad squirrel
Foraging for winter
I reflected for so long
On the fence of my life
My eyes' mind turned inside
I wrote too many lines
10 times more for you
Than for the passing Muse
Now
Staying here awaiting you
What looks like a hurry
Is not, and there is not
A single need to rush
Marius 50th was a memory
Maybe you don't remember
I do
So hurry if you do too