The world is turning clockwise,
and the ticking doesn't stop.
The rigid hands, like marching bands,
move forward round the clock.
And desperate backward snatches,
yield nothing in my grasp.
The rolling hearse has no reverse,
that bears away the past.
I'd like to live them over,
those sets of circumstance
When, called to rise and mobilize,
I left it all to chance.
I'd like to seize and salvage,
quick words that I have said,
And in their place, to have the grace,
for kinder ones instead.
The aura of the moment
I failed ...
I am working on something, working every day.
It won't be finished for a long, long time.
And I don't want to force it to completion anymore.
Every time I work with haste, I cause delay
And have to go back through the same old pantomime
And not so greatly wiser than before.
Knowing when to lift and when to let things settle;
It's hard for me to ever get those straight.
I even wonder if I'll someday learn