What beauty the blank page holds
Like fresh fallen snow
Before the kids shake their slumber
Before the earth has begun to yawn
And I like to watch it wake

As fragments turn to sentences
Turn to fragments
Turn to villanelles
Turn to sonnets

As people turn to leashed desk job dogs
Or artists
Or lovers
Or dust

As I turn to what this page becomes
And ay there's the rub
As endless pages in days won't
Turn to endless days in pages

But the blank page remains
Timeless