Ok, so you were born a snail.
The world where haste and speed prevail
Has changed you: all you do is race
From thing to thing, from place to place.
Relentless, panicky routine -
You want to keep your home pristine
While chasing deadlines, so you take
Your home along. Your back will ache
But it's an ache that you'll embrace
When hurrying from place to place,
A whirling blur, forgetting fast
The million things you've sprinted past
Until your self-control succumbs
To weariness - your shell becomes
Unwieldy like it's made of lead
And, true to type, you crawl to bed.
born a snail
© Copyright: Людмила Прасад, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124052902555
Свидетельство о публикации №124052902555
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