Years ahead to come
Ought give a choice,
More so than some
Rushed thru past life,
Without it lend a voice
To moderate the pace,
Blind so to fleeting time
Was forever on the run,
In its sad habitual chase
Of accepted rush to wait,
Living in a moribund way
As tho life be but sorry gift,
Akin to an indifferent kiss!
Poetry on a canapé 