The Folly of Buzz and Blur
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You whirl, you whir, a sparkler with no plan.
A frantic rush, chasing all you think you can.
Each flip is fragile, fleeting, never really sown.
A scatter gun feast, that leaves you all alone.
You blaze as if the world will soon ignite.
Your tiny body burns with furious light.
Your haste is commanding, yet what is it worth?
Without pausing to taste the fleeting mirth?
The garden knows your madness; it makes it clear,
That no blossom trusts your beat to linger near.
You skim, you dart, you never claim the whole.
For your shallow sips can never fill the soul.
A slower hand, will plant, endure and stay,
Learning the patient slow cadence of the day.
For haste will scatter, shatter what was planned,
Quickly yielding the dust you cannot stand.
Why do you not linger longer at what you sip?
Your feet are a blur; your body is a whip.
But, why this panicked, fevered, fleeting chase?
What force is driving you at such a pace?
Can menacing winds command you to not rest?
Or are rivals sneaking in, invading your nest?
You know a steady heart, outlasts a flashing one.
Playing slow and stead get the victory won.
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2025
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