You're not the only one
Who wakes up feeling stuck
and hoping seasons fall asleep
to dream you up some better luck

When you and sidewalks talk
It's not an argument
They like to conjure up old wraiths
from when you stood in better stead.

So what's left now but one more Fall?
     And after that, it's more of the same again
Seasons come and go, that's how
the mountains get so tall

Too easy just to chock it up
           to thinning blood
and fast failing memory
Hard to say
     that each year's still weighing the same

We'll paint the town
          with a broad brush
          in brightest hues
But that won't change a thing.