I know it's these that mark my sense of time
I sit each day and watch the things unfold
I get up on my little hill and climb
And push and watch as sonnets get unrolled.
So close now to a year is gone for good,
And all that I have left are memories
And all these little lines that have withstood
The waves of time that brought me to my knees.
So I look back on these and I feel calmed,
But when I look ahead I'm filled with dread,
I wish that I could not feel so alarmed
Yet wonder at which number I'll be dead.
I'm not complaining but we're in a line,
You think your days are numbered? Look at mine.
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