Said of a minute
Born to life,
Be a need for it
Tho enters strife,
Despite commit
To its short site,
Life persists to emit
Tho maybe a plight,
Holds of portent
Yet it is swallowed,
By the hour
And this to follow,
As if to scour
Chose be the fellow,
To do another
As if led by the echo,
Of a wilful brother
Not for a minute,
Would let fate posture
To fix a mindless habit,
Of disaffected bother
Ne’er now or then submit,
Tho for but a minute, now or then!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier
Poetry on a canapé 
Very well said. “Yet it is swallowed,” says so much so beautifully.
Thank you Paulette, for your ever encouraging words of appreciation, on my ever-growing consciousness of the ever-increasing speed with which the minutes of my life are being swallowed. Thus so by the oh so pressing, gluttonous greedy hours that will not slow down, so as to at least allow to catch one’s breath. How will we ever accomplish all that we have to do in so little time, at the speed we are forced to move, thanks to the greed of the Googles, the Apples, the Amazons, the Internet, etc, etc… Just thinking of them and more, fitting in a minute, one on an unwanted fast and breathless tract. Don’t mean to sound so pessimistic, especially for me the ultimate optimist, who is thankful for your presence!
Jean-Jacques
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