The Last Page

My notebook’s out of pages;
I’m writing on the last.
The time it takes to fill one
Seems to zip by rather fast.

My finished books are in a pile
Replete with all my rhymes,
Reflecting how I felt about
The topics of the times.

I carry ‘round a smaller version
When I’m not at home
So I can always have a place
To jot my daily poem.

Tomorrow I’ll inaugurate
A brand new sheaf of leaves,
Which soon will hold the latest thoughts
My racing mind conceives.