An old poet can say with a sly grin to an audience of cats and a stray ear from over/btween the fencing, that he never "really lived" .... Expectations fold up their wares and roll to greener pastures, a bird takes flight.... No sale.
But wait, come back.... A salesman, a neighbor, a rambunctious boy, they turn attentions elsewhere...UNIFORMLY...predictably...
The sly grin increases.... The eye secretly sparkles.... He goes back inside to be alone with his books, some tea, a dry oak fire, a table, a chair..."I never fully lived" repeats a self refracted tone.... Ha h ha ha... Only the cats hear me these days... What say you then, kitty? The old man opens a reluctant, rain soaked window and lets the cold pour in... He stands up straight with his feet apart to address the now vacant street, planted there like an oak himself, looking younger than five minutes prior,
"I'll never fully die!"
A window shuts, a shade drops, a cat curls up by a fire.
B.E.B.
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