I did not write a poem about you
today. Not that I had nothing to say,
I just had many other things to do.
This makes sense since just about every day
lately the juices have been flowing way
too much to get done daily things. What new
thoughts could I have, besides, but one or two?
Or three . . . . And now the daylight hours are through,
almost. But O the things I've gotten done!
Defrosted the refrigerator. Paid
a stack of bills, bought stamps, and mailed them. Made
two dozen luscious pumpkin muffins. Won-
dered if you're fond of pumpkin. Tried not to.
Then wrought another sonnet about you.
James B. Nicola
If you have any thoughts on this poem, James B. Nicola would be pleased to hear them.