I fall asleep at eight watching TV
And feel no loss at going on to bed
My mind can hardly think or body move
It's not really that early, it's time to sleep.
Dying can't be that difficult either.
What is this poem, then? Mind could think?
Fingers could move to find the keys?
Not quite time to sleep after all?
And what about next time, and the next,
And the final time—maybe then, too,
Enough mind to want to put death off a bit?
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- Thanks to Ken Marks for suggesting the alternate title, which I prefer.
- Original version:
Easy?
I'm old, or anyway old enough.
I fall asleep at eight watching TV
And feel no loss at going on to bed
My mind can hardly think or body move
It's not really that early, it's time to sleep.
Dying can't be that difficult either.
What is this poem, then? Mind can't think?
Fingers can't move to find the keys?
It wasn't quite time to sleep this time?
And what about next time, and the next,
And the final time—maybe then, too,
Enough mind to make dying not so easy?
It's not over until the fat lady sings. That is something to sit up for.
ReplyDeleteInteresting poem, the way you made the poem itself a symbol for a person's desire to create something, which desire, of course, death will end forever. You've created a poem worthy of anthologizing, a poem that might survive your death to be read by future generations. Bravo!
ReplyDeleteExcellent, Morris, and a good revision. When I read it, I think, "Not yet," which you might want to consider as a title.
ReplyDeleteThanks! I like your suggestion for a title and have adopted it.
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