Poem from “LABORS OF LOVE” about the loneliness of tasks when suddenly living alone again.
It’s up to me to pay the rent.
It’s up to me to fix the dents.
It’s up to me to clean the house.
It’s up to me to catch the mouse.
It’s up to me to fix my food.
It’s up to me to chop the wood.
It’s up to me to feel the plants.
It’s up to me to mend my pants.
It’s up to me to drive the truck.
It’s up to me to make my luck.
It’s up to me to mend my socks.
It’s up to me to set the clocks.
It’s up to me to clear my head.
It’s up to me to make the bed.
It’s up to me to make a wish.
It’s up to me to wash my dish.
It’s up to me to rub my ache.
It’s up to me which road to take.
It’s up to me to make my mind.
It’s up to me to schedule time.
So much to do, so little time.
How do you do? It’s up to you.
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Kenneth Harper Finton 