I'm getting better; better all the time.
My head is getting clearer, and with it, my mind.
To think the thoughts that lay ahead.
To form them, and then get them down before I'm dead.
Like an athlete's hone of muscle.
Seeking to refine.
The answers form slowly.
Like the ripening of a wine.
In dusty bottles that lay long forgotten.
And then, bubble to the top.
To be savored until near rotten.
Getting better until they stop.
Flowing from the consciousness, like never ending time.
Ideas to be sculpted, hammered into rhyme.
My work is getting better, with each hammered line.
So I am at the hammer, marking time.
Until my words are rotten, and falling all apart.
Then I'll put down this pen, and make a new start.
Getting better all the time.
Copyright 2001 © Ronald W. Hull