"A Minor Poem"
Somebody named Hall taps this telephone call.
I can't hear a word of what he's saying.
Knowing that we're all praying.
For the new tomorrow.
With plenty of sorrow.
Today I will stay and then go away.
Waiting for the day to break.
In summer's sunshine.
More rare than divine.
Quiet sublime in the winter's rhymes.
Always mimicking me in mimes.
Show yourself up and hand me your lines.
Promise you plenty of good times.
Add spring and fall.
You will always have it all.
By J. Billet's
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