How short or long is a life lived --
In minutes, hours, days?
And in the ways we move with it --
How can it not amaze!
Just how we grow from seed to old
And find ourselves grown wise,
Almost in spite of ourselves,
Sunrise to sunrise.
And at what age do we conquer?
At what age do we relent?
At what age do we accept our fate?
At what age repent?
At what age do we stop dead
And contemplate our doubt?
At what age do we whisper?
At what age do we shout?...
For the rest of this poem by ThisCantBeHappening! poet-in-residence GARY LINDORFF, please go to: www.thiscantbehappening.net/node/2939 [1]