Everything has its place...

Everything has its place.

We too shall whittle

the future into a nook

where we can grow old,

and watch the melting of days

in the window. I’ll scribble

lines for a book,

which will never be sold.

We’ll accept it with grace,

this quiet time by the little

babbling brook,

concealed from the world

and its bustling daze

and those caught in the middle,

and delight, as we look

at the birches turned gold.