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
Comments 2
I enjoyed this poem, and then looked up Nolcha’s other ones in the Mad Gallery… I am impressed with how much is said with few words.
Author
Thank you, Marie!