It’s Late But Not Quite Time Yet
It’s late but not quite time yet
by Marion E. McAnear
For the dark to dim the brain
My time has run for e’er so long
I await the start of the train. If there is a train at all
And places within for man
I hope to have a window seat
To see as much as I can. For there’s the age-old question mark
Are these made-up stories real?
And is there really a reward for us
Who follow those with zeal? Or is the end a void
Scraps of life—that sort of thing?
A shirt, some shoes, a Sunday suit
And, to show my troth, a ring.