A Poem:

I have had this poem on my refrigerator for years.
I guess it "speaks" to me...

In The Evening
by Billy Collins

The heads of the roses begin to droop,
The bee who has been hauling his gold
all day finds a hexagon in which to rest.

In the sky, traces of clouds,last few darting birds,
watercolors on the horizon.

The white cat sits facing a wall.

The horse in the field is asleep on its feet.

I light a candle on the wood table.
I take another sip of wine.
I pick up an onion and a knife.
And the past and the future?
Nothing but an only child with two different masks.

More on Mr. Collins, tomorrow.