Happy Poem


Time is a hard task maker

flaunting decades at us

like cards in a game

of hearts. We weave among

the second hands.


Centuries are birthed

from years, eras are history

sired. We stand in paths 

time explores; mostly 

in the way or left

on the wayside.


Happy are we who walk

in time; rhythm trained,

tempo encompassed. To dance

is the benificence of

grace and the best life

perk for human born.






Author's Notes/Comments: 



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