Wither too

Its been awhile - I haven't been inspired.

A year or so ago I wrote down these words:

"Is it
the sands of time,
or the healing hands of time."

I thought it might be the seed for a poem.

Several months later I came across a poem by a fellow named George Wither(1588-1667, English):

I grow and wither
both together.

Can it get more concise?

A few months later I came across another poem, author unknown:

There once was a fisherman named Devine
He said life's a cafeteria
You get one trip through the line.

Quite perceptive, eh?


I'm convinced that poetry is the path to freeing the soul.