write a poem

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift my glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

Is that not one of the best poems ever? Yeah.

Not with the writing, anyway. But I did go to my bookshelf just now, and take down a book of someone else’s poems, someone whose poems I really kind of like, and I read one of my old favorites, out loud wandering through the apartment at four in the morning, reading to the cats. Tennyson, “Ulysses”. Yeah.

I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever as I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life.

Yeah. One of these days.