Lenten Poem


My room is cluttered, unrefined;
files, unfiled, are piled askew.
Itís impossible to find
the hidden keyboard that you knew
was somewhere underneath.
Not too soon, Ash Wednesday!
Iím energized to chuck the stuff, bequeath
it to lifeís junk yard. The day
is longer, light displays my flaws!
Up! Up! You loathsome slob
uphold the cause!
God calls: rise to the job!
But age has crept away with all the joys that please
Thereís little left for Lent except the memories.

Poems from the Eighth Decade
Copyright © Harold Macdonald 2004
used with permission

Harold Macdonald Poetry

Ash Wednesday
Ashes to Easter