Waste of Haste
Mockingbird outside my window
sings cheerfully throughout the night,
while my harried song resonates
only in hours when the sun shines.
First the chugging of tea,
sounds of traffic on the way to work.
No matter how much is accomplished,
I never seem to catch up.
“Make haste,” the boss growls.
Fingers glide more quickly o’er the keyboard.
Deadlines, deadlines --
stop only for one deep breath,
How I envy the mockingbird,
carefree and welcome in my yard,
enjoying the garden I tend only on week’s end
when the time clock isn’t punched.
Pressure builds minute-by-minute,
hour-by-hour, day-by-day.
Who stops to smell flowers
while burning daylight for pittance pay?
Take me to another era
when families worked in fields together,
chores were enjoyed beneath bright rays
and modern times had not yet intruded.
*Written April 24, 2015
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