Running a marathon against myself
with a few seconds to spare
to wave to passersby
Some, far ahead
Others sidelined
Spectators I once
confessed dreams to
Yet, the person I fear
is the helpless novice
at the start:
a crying voice
echoing faster
with the years
Self-doubt has kept me at a snail’s pace
And the summer heat croons sleep
Yet these legs have walked miles to and fro;
One day I will not be able to run
And all wishing will be in vain
Berating myself, I think
What stays my hand today
When the world, still unfurled
Blooms ripe for picking?
On the wings of tomorrow
Hope flies beyond the stars
The gazer on the ground reaches up
Knowing every moment
He must run faster
RED GLADIOLA 