On my deathbed, deep in the heart of age, I would be blessed to hear a voice say, You have made a fair beginning. And if there were no voice, another sign — wind along the eaves, or hummingbird befriend me. Should I hear it twice, I would not know my name; a third time, maybe — given to a tree outside, or a tiny newborn baby.
December 12, 2020. Afternoon.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
William Michaelian 