TIME TO PEN MY MEMOIRS
I waited for a letter to arrive,
I waited for the phone to ring,
I waited for water to boil.
I saw the wood rose between gray fence posts,
I saw her asleep beside me in the morning,
I saw the moon glowing in a puddle.
I heard the blue jay’s reveille,
I heard Lew Welch read his poems,
I heard her whisper to me in the dark.
I remember it rained a lot.
Bill Deemer
Posted over on Bobby Byrd's site White Panties and Dead Friends
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