They will say, “What did you do with your life?”
And I might reply, “Not much,
It was filled with an occasional strife,
But with love I was mostly touched.”
I have a collection of words,
In an unkempt, unfinished novel.
It might seem slightly absurd,
But for literature my heart does grovel.
I have travelled here and there,
But never too far away.
The vast old world cannot compare
With reading books all day.
So when they ask what legacy I’ve left,
I’ll point to my library on display.
For I’m glad I’ve not left the world bereft,
Of the written word’s array.
Stephanie Redfern Jones