PoemCW120

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Nothing to Give

Without arms outstretched for alms,

His can lay there empty.

A child alights his bike,

Slips his hand into his pocket,

Then drops a coin for the beggar.

I walked past them.

I look at them hoping that something was inside my wallet.

Three of us were on that sidewalk

As the sun readily sets unminding the rest.

On My Uncle’s Burial

On my Uncle’s Burial

On headstones are names,

To call no notice

not year, not month, not date

Nor that which drew-

A candle lit upon their beds.

Its who they were and what they are,

That made the others cry.

Into some age unseen,

Who knew it was not Time,

That plucked the man to die.