(republished)
Reflections on a windswept day
gotta go, no time to play.
Busy is the way we live
no time to rest, even less to give.
We no longer stop to smell the rose
but isn't that the way it goes?
No time to play, no time for fun
we're always kept on the run.
On we go; the hours fly past
the days go by; too fast, too fast.
Until we're aged, then we reflect
upon the life of our neglect.
No rainbows, no snowmen, and no pillowfights
now it's too late, and we know it's not right.
Why did we muddle and procrastinate?
And now our reflections just won't wait.
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Comments: 19
stop and smell the roses....every moment you get...sometimes it only takes a minute....even better, share the moment with your loved ones too...
Great poem, Sheila!