To What Do We Allow
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This crisp dancing, figaro prancing,
Sailors cursed, and sideways glancing day,
Nearly, neatly, drowns us with its slow descent.
An unwrapped undelivered present
To behold.
Some catch a star, Some catch a cold.
Are you still listening
To what you have been told?
Well tell a lie if you must
But roll the butter and cinnamon dust
Of some sweet morsel of your own,
Created and sold before you could disown.
Give me your best shot for the love of life, man.
Sometimes the needle skips a stitch
The music skips a beat
And we let moments slip between the cracks
While we await an erstwhile cause to celebrate.
What could be more noble than the tuning of a life?
Where is your walden waiting?
When will “it” arrive?
The moment of truth that daily impacts your brow.
To what do we allow?
Copyright © Vernon Witmer | Year Posted 2020
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