It feels as if the year doesn't
Start till round March-April
I remember there was never really
A start or beginning as a child
The calendar says one thing
The clock tells me more
And I suppose we could follow that
I see the wheels of the year
Slowly begin to turn when
The sun comes back out
It makes more sense that way, I think
Everything begins to hit me
I understand that now,
No more trying to fix last year
It's too late for anything like that
Now I see everyone galloping
Scrounging to figure out who
They will be this year, the big race
But I'll sit from the stands
With the paper and my drink
Knowing **** well we all lose
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 6:02 PM UTC
It feels as if the year doesn't
Start till round March-April
I remember there was never really
A start or beginning as a child
The calendar says one thing
The clock tells me more
And I suppose we could follow that
I see the wheels of the year
Slowly begin to turn when
The sun comes back out
It makes more sense that way, I think
Everything begins to hit me
I understand that now,
No more trying to fix last year
It's too late for anything like that
Now I see everyone galloping
Scrounging to figure out who
They will be this year, the big race
But I'll sit from the stands
With the paper and my drink
Knowing **** well we all lose
Request permission to use this poem