at dawn i feel you
touch my hands
i do not think now
of roses in springtime
i do not have
thoughts like a river
i am caught
in this quagmire of
other priorities
myself above all
wanting something
new and strange
in the morning
you tell me that the
roses in the garden
all wilted
i must not be dreaming
of death.
RIC S. BASTASA
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-change-of-priority/
