Mud Puddle Protozoan
When it's going smoothly and purring along
like a Maserati on a silky autobahn.
I'd like to live a long life, like a bristlecone pine.
Bathe in the moonbeams of infinity
throttle down the Rolex of Father Time...
When life's slings rocks at the center of the soul.
I want life to be brief as a mud puddle protozoan.
Just take a few sips of bad water-then die within seconds.
Instead, these wings beat somewhere between,
I think it's not for me to decide when it's my time...
Or is it?
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