Saturday, December 24, 2016


                  What is there in me yet to be expressed
                  Of my human potentiality—
                  Which gifts unused with which I have been blessed
                  That have not yet become reality?
                  To what vocation am I called that still
                  I’ve not attended to as I must do,
                  Which I am duly destined to fulfill
                  Or otherwise to end my life in rue?
                  If anything, it’s verses still to turn
                  As I have done for lo these many years
                  And may do still so long as in me burn
                  Imagination’s lights by which appears
                       Most every morning an enticing glimpse
                       Of what’s revealed when I peruse such hints.