Books And Poems
Books are worlds
A universe can be held
On wooden shelves.
My book of poetry I lay way;
The click of the switch marks the close of day
Alone in the dark with time to think,
As if of life to take one long drink
The Drifting Cloud
The old man watched the cloud drift along.
In the clear blue sky, it did not belong.
As he watched the cloud, near the rim,
He thought how much the cloud was like him.