I keep my verse in a chest of drawers
  each one so very different

Some words for summer, some for winter
  and some then most intemperate

I keep the best one’s locked away
  for those times when you’re around

To dress each phrase in sunlit fire
  with silks and linens found

I fold each poem nice and neat
  stacked end to end they lay

To sit and wait, my breath exhaled
  until their chosen day

There’s one drawer open every night
  in case my dreams conspire

The thickest warmest woolen clads
  to wrap the image dire

One day I’ll will this chest of drawers
  to my first born oldest son

And hope he wears each line as his
  and lets the meanings run

And then to his son, he’ll pass on
  when fate calls out his name

The drawers more full than when I left
—this chest without a name

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)