Something Poem by William B. Deutscher

Something

Live it up,
always on call.
Something is nothing,
ripeness all.
Pass it down,
memory of old.
Squandered time,
forgotten, untold.
Pour it on,
beginning to end.
Guessing game,
facile trend.
Drop it off
in the street.
Moment's dream,
final retreat.

Saturday, February 17, 2024
Topic(s) of this poem: forgotten,memory
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success