There's also this sonnet, composed on a whim in response to a half-joking prompt: The worm drives helically through the wood And does not know the dust lef

There's also this sonnet, composed on a whim in response to a half-joking prompt: The worm drives helically through the wood And does not know the dust left in the bore Once made the table integral and good; And suddenly the crystal hits the floor. Electrons find their paths in subtle ways, A massless eddy in a trail of smoke; The names of lovers, light of other days -- Perhaps you will not miss them. That's the joke. The universe winds down. That's how it's made. But memory is everything to lose; Although some of the colors have to fade, Do not believe you'll get the chance to choose. Regret, by definition, comes too late; Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate. This is, as noted later in the thread, a person who once won a World Fantasy Award for the poem on his self-published Christmas card (the absolutely brilliant "Winter Solstice, Camelot Station", on line here: https://sigridellis.wordpress.com/2014/12/21/winter-solstice-camelot-station-by-john-m-ford/ https://sigridellis.wordpress.com/2014/12/21/winter-solstice... ).