A hummingbird nest
is a great place to rest
if you’re tiny enough to fit in.
A pool in the sun
is remarkably fun
but always protect your fair skin.
A home by the sea?
It’s apparent to me
that I should possess one or two.
And if I should win
the lottery, friend,
I’ll be happy to share it with you.
The temperature here
is getting too near
an astonishing 110.
But what can I do?
Just sweat and stay true
to this poem that will never end.
I wish I knew
what this rhyme’s going to do.
These words are making no sense.
If I could cease
or merely decrease
the onslaught of wordy nonsense.
But they fly to the page
as if in a rage
to fill all the spaces and lines.
I’m out of control!
Oh, Lord, save my soul!
Let me leave all this rhyming behind.
It all started well
but now I can tell
this poem’s become quite a chore.
There’s no end in sight.
I might as well write
until I fall dead on the floor.
Please, words take a rest!
I’m doing my best
to maintain a good attitude.
But night draws so near
and it’s perfectly clear
this poem will never conclude.
Someday when I stand
in front of The Man,
I’ll ask a favor, please Sir.
I respectfully say
I need a delay.
With this I pray you’ll concur.
This poem began
when I, a young man,
set pen to paper one day.
The volumes I wrote!
The lines and the notes
contained what a poem should say.
Now decades have gone
and I’ve carried on
with no end in foreseeable view.
I’m old and I’m tired,
and I’ve often desired
to announce with bold voice: “I am through!”
But words will not cease,
nor will they decrease.
All day and all night they descend.
My life’s a footnote
to the fact that I wrote
The Poem That Will Never End.
Shining Spirit 
I thought as I read,
The sun’s baked your head,
But then I began to see,
What a creative genius you be!
Dear GAF—It is plain to see, a poet you should be!
I am so glad
The poem will never end
As I do not want to hear
Cease or decrease
For your words make sense
Of a nonsense world.
Just keep on writing
Do not worry about rhyming
This poem must never end
Until you hear from The Man
“Well done, my Friend
The poem may now end”
Perhaps the poem never ends, but continues beyond the limits of our awareness. Maybe it has ancient stanzas joined to these we write and counting on others to add future words. Or, maybe I’ve written them all from some ancient yesterday and will continue to scribble words in some other lifetime. It’s such an intriguing puzzle. Thank you, friend.