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.