As I swim through the Ocean Breadth,
A Turtle—or the like—
Who fears a Few but not of Death—
Returns The Caller's Hike.
It passes by a kindly Wave—
A gently smiled nod—
Perhaps it grieved a Deed unsaved—
A Sorrow left uncaught.
I make my way to grab its Tail
and question what it knew—
It merely turns its Head to wail:
I am not of the Few!
What more of us should Timing take—
When things were never sown—
But heading backwards has a Stake
of never having Grown.
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 2:49 PM UTC
As I swim through the Ocean Breadth,
A Turtle—or the like—
Who fears a Few but not of Death—
Returns The Caller's Hike.
It passes by a kindly Wave—
A gently smiled nod—
Perhaps it grieved a Deed unsaved—
A Sorrow left uncaught.
I make my way to grab its Tail
and question what it knew—
It merely turns its Head to wail:
I am not of the Few!
What more of us should Timing take—
When things were never sown—
But heading backwards has a Stake
of never having Grown.
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