O drops of me that trickle slow
The substance of my spirit
Last resort of Winter’s pause
That trickles for another Spring
I may never, unfold
Out of the fold of neurons
They are the inimitable poetry
Of the last woman, of my last year
Unfolded only by the finished inspiration
Of a lonely lifetime of writing
Unfolded, by the brawny embraces
Of mind pressing into words
With all the heart of great sympathies
O drops of me that end in blood
At last, I must give up this pen
To unfold out of the Folds
Of this humanity, will never do
There is too much to say
To ever write it in a poem
Though I admit the attempt
Was the poetic life of art for me.
Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Ocean-Flower-426725554