Robbed of purpose, I’m bereft. I’m a hammer without nails. The castle that I built is far away Behind iron fences and locked gates. I’m exiled here with tools still shiny But no blueprint was sent along And lumber is in short supply. I’m a craftsman - I must build, Or rust along with all my tools. I feel I’m left out in the cold And the forecast is for rain. ljm
Still struggling with being dumped into retirement so very unwillingly and so painfully.