I had a brief assault of poetry this afternoon:
Can someone remind me of who I am?
Erase all the pain of yesterday?
I dreamed once again—but slept through it all.
Who am I? Who am I? You are Paul.
And thought I would try to continue:
And nobody knows when the ax will land
or when the rain will come.
Yet long I will cry into the night
Send me peace, send me peace. Hear my call.
Swift savior save this dying man,
and pull me from this desperate brink.
My dreams darken my eyes with scales.
No more Saul, no more Saul. I am Paul.
Tale Told 
My father was named Peter, his younger brother was Paul. But they are only the English names they chose to used when they were assimilated after the war.
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Sorry. I lost track of your comment in the chaos of today. I know our family name was changed to be more American some three or four generations back.
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I enjoy your poetry Dr. ☺
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And I yours.
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Thank you ☺
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I am constantly searching online for posts that can aid me. Thanks!
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