By Norm Olson, Nikiski


My poems, my poems,

Golden vessels of thought,

Jewel-encrusted treasure trove of laughter and tears,

Fine casks of joy and love and fears.

For memories sake,

I carefully scribed them in the finest script.

Then they came:

Misunderstanding tried to diminish them

Scorn, rebuke, and ridicule tried to steal them

But they could not.

For they were indelibly etched and

as long as they lived, I lived.

Then came fire ... and I died.

Walking among the smoldering ashes I find:

A word here

A phrase there

Bits and pieces of laughter and sorrow

All disjointed now.

And it is as if I had never lived.

But now the Peninsula Clarion begs me to remember.

And so I shall. For this is life to me.

What shall await my friends ... Those who

cannot keep the true meaning of their feelings


Wait and see.


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