When Eye can no longer write and read

the things I loved to read and see,

I can bewail my age, and rage –

Or simply accept the next new page.

I cannot know the final hour

When Death will take the fading flower.

I cannot know the witching time

Death will stop my simple rhyme.

But I can choose to live and say

I’m glad I’m alive each darkening day.

I will not wail and wildly rage,

I’m ready to read Death’s bright new page.

Susan Barrett, August 20^th 2022