A letter arrived in the mail today
that was addressed quite simply to you...

I'll write a short poem,
more often than not...

I step outside, a days work done,
As twilights' brief lights wane...

He never sickens from the fall
the gambler with his gum-ball pride...

Limbs grow weak I fall
Resting near my birthing stone...

Once she trudged with me to school,
through a biting winter's day...

A coroner's slab
for love's return...

My pen is poised above this page,
an artists' canvas, blank and white...

Hands to fists
Knuckles white...

To stand up high on Hadrian's Wall,
past meets present. History shows...

Lost my job,
Lost my wife...

I am a tax collector,
I will tell most everyone...