You've no control o'er that,
The sun will rise and set a thousand times,
In the life of a rat,
Or a thousand Mayflies born and deceased,
Did they get ev'thing done?
How many seconds did each sit and brood,
About their existential condition?
But what luxury to do even this!
Though it's not about time,
Thought stretches moments to infinity,
When you're penning a rhyme,
Until you die,
That is another thing,
You're immortal right up to your last breath,
Whether a human or arctic lemming.
No comments:
Post a Comment