Flirtation and epitaph

Poetry is like a puzzle. Everyone owns a piece of the final vision. Unfinished and vague until completion, it almost never conveys it's true meaning during construction, and remains dubious to all, even to it's creator, until the time is right.

This  poem emerged as a flirtation that got out of control,
and eventually and ironically became my future epitaph.

In every way there is a wonder in the midst of thee.
In every way there is a season just to set it free.
In ways no one will ever know there is a land of free.
In days God only knows my name he'll take from me.

Tamp Florida, 1980