Insanity
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I wrote this poem many years ago. Now that I am retired, it no longer applies to me. Unfortunately, though, it still applies to many other people in this frenetic society.
I saw the little old man
With long white hair and yellow eyes
Whisking on windy nights
Through street lights and puddles.
I told him how I spend twelve hours a day,
Chasing, racing, and bracing,
And he gave me a wink and a yawn.
I asked him how I could stay awhile
On his sweet, secret, gentle side,
But he vanished without a clue.
Copyright © Carol Mays | Year Posted 2018
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