“I don’t have time to write,”
I sigh and mutter as I wipe
The sweat off my forehead
And long for bed.
“Time is passing me by,”
I cry and stutter as I type
Out endless chores that must be done
In order to beat the setting sun.
“I must find a way to slow down,”
I whisper and yawn as I search
For a forgotten place
Where I was once at ease
And kept a decent pace.
Thoughts of This 