I am picking the winter season’s horse shit
And putting it in the green wheelbarrow
Everything depends on this moment.
I don’t want to forget it, the echoes of life
That seeped when In a Sentimental Mood
Played through the dialog on my podcast
About music and the mind and memory.
Perhaps these little snapshots of poetry
Make sentiments last beyond their lifespan
Like the average man who makes it. Where?
Perhaps nowhere beyond here, maybe here
Was where he sought when he left seeking?
The horse shit piled up over the frozen months
Much of it has been dried to the grass remnants,
The hay remains that will fertilize a new season’s
Grass. I want to save this moment, this
Sentiment, this feeling forever. Why, though?
For what does this wheelbarrow full of shit
(Not even a red one in the rain!) Matter?
I am reminded that there may be a time
Sooner now than before, I fear, that this…
May be the one I want to remember when no other
Wants remembered. My shoulders feel tired
And it makes sense, I want to soak up every word
I can, like cleaning the pasture, for the horse
My mind remains, ready to ride. My words
Still come. My ideas still form. Someday
In a Sentimental Mood may feint me.