I gathered up my sorrows
And I found myself a pen
Stretched them out across paper
The pages never end

My pen keeps running out of ink
I can't retain enough refills
The paper's another story
I need to buy a mill

My book of sorrows is a volume of work
With publications every hour
A never ending biography
Of bittersweet but mostly sour

A ruefulness existence
Fueled by grief and regret
Constant rerunning envisions
Never to let me forget

Now I'll take the time to review
All the sorrows that I wrote
Has someone tampered with my work?
This must be someone's joke

What I see in black and white
It's wrong it can't be true
It's all one line a perpetual rewrite
Of the words that I miss you

05/19/1979