to **** out my garden.
Now there’s no room
for the roses to grow.
So, all that they do
is hang their heads low.

I hadn’t the time
to clean out my closet.
Now the skeletons
are dancing a jig
wearing my corsets.
I can’t jar the door
even if I force it.

I hadn’t the time
to dust the grey cobwebs.
Now they’re dangling
as pearls over my bed.
And bead up as teardrops
in stillness, I shed.