Till Bankruptcy
There’s no wording or praying to undo
The lost battle I funded on memory
And so funded — till ruin of treasury
While memory lies fresh as the dew
Now I gather the scraps and leftovers
Any crumb that admits us once real
And I bind them with faith and hope seal
So I find them once back from my rovers
And I thought myself banned from the pen
But it seems that the thoughts still impose
So I’ll write you, in poem and prose
And I’ll roam, lest it’s you then no den