


Trying to Leave Something Behind
My old pen is a blunt knife
Scraping along the edges of life
Hanging on by my fingernails
To the ancient spirits that fill my empty sails
My days are Leis of greys
Yesterday’s clouds a sky ballet
Today, here comes the suns soothing rays
Turning my grey horizon into a rosy bouquet
My pages of endless blue lines
Are becoming tomorrows book of wisdom and rhymes
My volumes of dreams are now to be a reality
Retrieving hidden debris from under my courtyard fernery
Ivor Steven (c) October 2020



