The Last Poem I Was Writing Is Not Complete

I was writing a poem for Francis Crick. And I got to a point and I said, that could be the end of the poem. So I'll take it down and read it to his wife O'Dill. Hear the crashing sound. It's deep inside. Your life swinging around. Your body. Does mama lion love you? Can the salmon drown? The last poem I was writing is not finished. so I couldn't bring it.