In the fast lane,
life goes by too quickly;
the landscape blurs.
I gaze till I feel sickly.
I used to get that way,
on the circular merry-go-round;
I'd get off and fall to earth,
back then, it was, soft ground.
Now the earth's grown hard,
I bend, but seldom give;
the body is more rigid,
each year that I do live.
I walk with caution, on
ground that's cold and icy,
my footsteps planted firmly,
they know each step is dicey.
I take no unknown risks,
I like my life too much;
to throw caution to the wind,
wouldn't help me much.