This is the second lap, so how much more?
My opportunity is great, my disposition poor.
As I came around the bend, I sprinted ahead
And I’m alone again—so I’ve been lead.
But someone whispers, “I’m running with you now,”
My legs give up, I get faster, and I know how.
I do get tired of moving so fast all the time,
Like I’ve reached the Everest top with more to climb.
When does it end? When does it stop?
When can I rest and eat my own crop?
When will the seasons stop changing to frost?
When will I finally stop feeling so lost?
No comments:
Post a Comment