Some Enfevered Evening
/Is it a sunspot, this dastardly blot,
a small, darkened mark of chagrin on my skin
which says I’ll debark from the journey I’ve known
since before I was grown and depart all alone?
Nature has shown once our skin and our bone
cease to hold us together against any weather,
in this great adventure where life’s a debenture,
our debts must be paid to the piper, parlayed
by the body that’s laid in condition now staid
’neath the sun overhead. So, has this brought the dread
of determinate cause of my life’s final clause?
Or, perchance, beauty mark, leaving time to debark
on the journey ahead which too often we dread,
for we don’t know the whys or the wherefores of skies
which we think we might enter to meet The Great Mentor
(or maybe the place which we hope we won’t grace
with a body disheveled like eggs which are deviled)?
But speaking of which, this reminder says switch
from the evilous ways done the bulk of my days
and become a good person whose fate will not worsen
when it’s time to board for life’s final accord.
There’s no need to answer—the Reaper’s a dancer
who’ll prance and romance till I’ve had my last chance
to complete what I started before I’ve departed
to realms not yet known where I’ll find what I’ve sown
has been growing, some grown, then departing alone,
will I find that my yield has become a vast field
which fed very many—or never fed any?
Whatever I’ve done it’s too late to undo
for I can’t return and tell you what to do
nor warn more than a few that it’s time to renew
before seeing your life in its final review.
By Ken Gosse
From: United States
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