.

So much to say, so little time.

.

Oh friend there is so much that still needs to be said,

A thousand metaphors which I still long to craft

A hundred unfinished creatures remain in draft

Or a thousand more rhymes that have yet to be wed,

Nonetheless I can feel the end of an epoch,

That which has come to be the golden age of mind,

The purpose of a year, the goal of this long walk,

And a silver-lined tongue which I shall leave behind;

So many failures met, so many lessons taught,

How I feared once before that all might be for naught,

But my dreads have been quelled as over those long hours

I have grown and become a true man, a poet,

– Or at least ’tis my hope – one that never cowers

From sadness and who might somehow grace bestow it.

.

           Hour 11.

The End.