Chains Seasons pass before my eyes. The time grows shorter, quickly flies. So toward the goal, I steadfastly run, Not taking time for play or fun. Grey hair and wrinkles bother me. This stranger in a mirror I see. More blemishes of age appear. Less subtle change becoming clear. Too busy for new things to see. Blue skies and friends avoiding me. Sunsets, walks, the rose, alas! Noticed not, I quickly pass. These simple things, only memories. I hope once more to find the keys To remove these chains which hold me fast And embrace again things which last. Douglas Fletcher 11/11/01 |
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