Three Hundred And One Poem by GRANT FRASER

Maybe in another
ten years or so
something poetical
within me, shall mature...

c'mon grow into something
I don't already know...

not that I know that much,
but something that I can account
for, a changeable formidible
slice of new experience,

the invention within
me is getting quite dry,

do I try hard enough,
do I lie to myself
without really thinking?

simple rain drops
hit the window,

they're probably trickling
down,

down...

I am
running
down
with them,

as far as I know
everything's clear!

perhaps they're soft
subtle diamonds waiting
to harden...