by on January 16, 2024 :: 1 comment

The hours crowd, they tailgate,
they long to reach their journey’s end.
Perhaps they think of party time,
to share some beers beneath the stars.
Give me some room, don’t make me rush,
I’ll reach oblivion all by myself.

editors note:

We’d all savor a slower amble to the end. – mh clay

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