If I knew I was dying
(As I know I will sometime)
But if I really knew..
Then I would regret
Not writing enough
Not publishing my poems
Not living near the sea
Not playing more music
Dirty cupboards
Grease
Too many drawers
With unimportant stuff in them
And if that is true, then,
As I’m not expecting to die just yet
Surely that is what I should be doing
While I am living
Otherwise it’s not really living
At-all, is it?
© Amanda Samm