January 17th, 2010

puffin

"Time slips away." A drabble poem.

It seems that I do
maybe once a week
the things I wish
I could do every day.

Time slips away
from my fingers and eyes
resulting in lists
of projects not done.

Memory tells me
the thing happened recently.
Reality and others tell me
the truth is further ago.

If wishes were fishes
I would forget to put them in the fridge
and by the time I remembered
they would be rotten.

I have a mental timetable
of things I would like to do every day
but there are not enough minutes in the day
given my spoons supply.






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