If a poem were to be my last
Then from me the pen would cast
What would I write then?
What pasasages with that pen?
My wife? My life? My family?
About the world or about just me?
Would I mourn that I could write no more
And into it my soul pour?
Would I be sunny, sad or sour?
Would I take a day or just an hour?
I hope this poem won't be my last
If it is, It came too fast