The Calendar

This handy tool sits upon my desk
With notes reflecting appointments
And family events
I grew tired of crossing off each day
Experimenting instead with a white-out
Now in front of me, upon my desk
Is a sheet of paper showing
The month, the year, a few cycles
Of the moon and nine remaining days
Starring me in the face
Taunting me to use them wisely
Constructively, purposefully
For the calendar starkly represents
The blank days now passed
And the short time that is left
A precious gift to be appreciated
Will I do something memorable
Helpful, spiritual
Will this change in crosssing off the days
Now make me aware of my life's
Evaporating stay.

written by Pauline March, 2002 (c)