Bittersweet The Memory
The longest November
that ever I remember
hit me like a storm front on the shore.
The days that I wasted
were sweeter than they tasted
and steady rolled December evermore.
The time I was tempted
could have been pre-empted
bittersweet the memory as it passed.
The years as they mounted,
seven, last I counted,
each one now seems shorter than the last.
Tomorrow: Overheard In New York