|Twenty-nine comes charging up a hill,|
Winded yet quite willing to do more.
Even so, the thing behind the door
Not only can't come out, but never will.
There may be joy or bitter pain in store,
Yet life goes on regardless, eyeless still.
Now's the time to act deliberately,
In the process tempering one's pace;
Nor will the ego-lust end easily,
Eventually a journey, not a race.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon