new under the sun

the new book,
hard covered, full of poetry,
rhyme
and unrhymed
verse.
free and constrained,
sonnets
and haiku.
the subjects are all the same,
for what is there to
write about,
but love
and death, sex and work?
children
pets,
friends and family,
the meaning
of everything.
is there truly nothing left
under the sun
that hasn't
been thought of, or
written about?
i'll open up this crisp
new book and see if
it's possible,
but I have my doubts.