It has been written
over time,
this most
inelegant poem,
but written always
from the heart
with my truths,
as best I know them.
The pages
now yellow and brittle,
both tears and joys
found line by line.
Thoughts and feelings
intermingled
as they are in my heart,
as they are in my mind.
At times a gift,
others a curse
to express one’s life,
loves, and pain.
The vulnerability
of the summer sun’s heat
cooled
by the understanding
and forgiveness
of the autumn’s rain.
It gets better
with each word I pen,
the poem
not quite as good
as it will get.
Despite the many
flaws and missteps,
the poem
will improve, I’m sure,
because
I have not finished it
yet …

M. Zane McClellan

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