POETRY

On a Book

Poetry on the plane

Image by the author in Canva Pro

I wrote this in a few minutes of flow on my last holiday’s plane journey.

A Book

A book is a piece of me I leave behind,
Of me and my times to remind.
If you read it, you honour me,
And if you don’t, I’ll let it be.

To write something is my natural feature,
Like sermons from a preacher.
But unlike him, my books won’t tell you what to do,
They’ll give you me,
what you partake in is up to you.

Do you wonder if a book is a labour of love?
Love is not labour but Camelot here and now.

How long will I write?
When will it end?
Till my last thought’s breath,
Even if my hand can’t attend.

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QUALITY THINKING