God’s Waiting Room.
As he sat in God’s waiting room
And cast his mind back to the past
When he’d thrown a disenchanted glance at the moon
And wrote about a love that didn’t last
The folly of the path he took
Was lost in irony a bitter sigh
The words carved from mind they mistook
And threw a jaundiced eye
Over toiled work he’d thought
Would May the spring day brighter
With a way of words that couldn’t be taught
His later pages stayed much whiter
Than what was said before
As his mind grew feeble and old
Dusk danced and came to the fore
The fire went out and in crept the cold.
by Robin McNamara © 2018
Robin McNamara Poet 