Poem No. 7 What will they think, The ones in whose eyes this will be – From the first seers’ blink Till long after the end of me. How long will they wonder About the nature of this drive To push paper with inpainted ink asunder, And this love an eternity to strive. But they won’t be linked With we a privileged few, Who celebrate Nature’s instinct To sentence us a life with you. But if they who’ll wonder then Could see what I see now, They would never ask again Why through dulcet words I plow. Your eyes would show them Far better than I can do – One glance would drive them To desperate pen and paper too.