The last copy of the poetry magazine
I hold as delicately as a kitten
and re-read the editor's sad farewell
feeling I have lost a dear friend,
though of course we have never met.
The same names have cropped up time after time
but this is the digital age
and alas I've now reached the final page.
Yet perhaps many years later
it will be resurrected somewhere,
pages bent and withering
like an old man...and just maybe
someone will admire verses from long ago.
Oh, how true nothing lasts forever;
so to this magazine I say goodbye,
but even the mightiest of stars will die.
I hold as delicately as a kitten
and re-read the editor's sad farewell
feeling I have lost a dear friend,
though of course we have never met.
The same names have cropped up time after time
but this is the digital age
and alas I've now reached the final page.
Yet perhaps many years later
it will be resurrected somewhere,
pages bent and withering
like an old man...and just maybe
someone will admire verses from long ago.
Oh, how true nothing lasts forever;
so to this magazine I say goodbye,
but even the mightiest of stars will die.
