REREADING

Rereading
some of my poetry
of a dozen years ago
left me troubled
but with
some added pleasure, too.

 

I’d forgotten
so much of
what I  once struggled
to produce.

 

The quality
of what I wrote back then
has hardly been improved
in spite of years of practice.

 

And yet
my need to write a poem
has not diminished.

 

Though my years assemble
almost beyond expectations
my urge to court the muse
has not diminished.

 

Give me another decade
and I’ll  not recall these words
and may never claim them.

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