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.
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