When I was young
It was the little things,
Those things in later life ignored,
That gave me moments of unrest.
The big picture too abstract
Too far removed,
Something to be pondered in later days;
Those days have come and gone.
I would like to think it not my fault
My life now lived in a role of minion
The dream once dreamed no longer real
Or even within reach,
Left for other fools to folly with
And ponder in their later years.
Now I am grown and life has moved on.
I punch a clock
I grind an anvil
I serve my time.
I have a regiment of should haves
And could haves and would haves
But they too have grown tired
They too have grown old.
© 2009, Tim (P) Prendeville
