1245

Nothing to say, no thoughts upon the page;

Nothing but the blankness of a mind

Befuddled by the comforts of old age.

Nothing to say.

When I was young it wasn't hard to find

Small tyrannies that would make me rage,

My pen denouncing all the snide unkind

Acts so liberally sprinkled, but the stage

Has changed, and routines of retirement bind

My brain within this soporific cage.

Nothing to say.

Brian Hick February 2013

©copyright Sally Hick 5.2.25