My room is cluttered, unrefined;
files, unfiled, are piled askew.
It’s impossible to find
the hidden keyboard that you knew
was somewhere underneath.
Not too soon, Ash Wednesday!
I’m energized to chuck the stuff, bequeath
it to life’s junk yard. The day
is longer, light displays my flaws!
Up! Up! You loathsome slob
uphold the cause!
God calls: rise to the job!
But age has crept away with all the joys that please
There’s little left for Lent except the memories.