Time terminates all inner truths.
Years will pass, we are the hare,
And time is the tortoise.
We will wake, from this delightful dream, and find ourselves
Excluded from the final prize.
Down your pens now, poets, live, live, live!
Take risks, love freely, be daring, try sharing,
Be the hare, but be aware,
You’ll look around one day and there’ll be nothing there;
Up in front, a smiling beast in a shell
Will watch you crumple, overtaken,
Speed is futile,
It’s the journey that counts.