Stephen M. Honig's seventh book of poetry spans the last days of the COVID inconvenience and drifts unwillingly into the malaise we call life. There is something here for every fear: ageing, love and its loss, society and its angst, a planet dying as its people die, promise and disappointment of seasons, and numerous unrequited evils.

The author, Board Member of New England Poetry Club, claims his affair with poetry began with his mother, a farm girl who ran away to find life in the Big City but who held to her spunk and to her allegiance to Nineteenth Century American literature.

Aged 82 at date of this publication, the author hopes to survive long enough to fill more books with poetry; he believes that his remaining years may be sufficient as only the good die young...