Tuesday, 7 July 2020
Time waits for no mouse.
Though the mice and the men make the greatest of plans,
We can't fashion the fate which is out of our hands.
We can add up the numbers and circle a date,
But frustration and anguish will batter the gate.
When your walls are built thick and supplies have been stowed,
You're repelling the siege but the debt is still owed.
You've signed up to a promise that someone else made,
You have greased up the wheel, the machine has been paid.
Now you're out of control and you're trapped on the ride,
And your fingers are crossed, looking out from inside.
You're reliant on everyone doing their part,
This seems far more grown up than it did at the start.
Every day I await a majestic report,
A reward for my practice of positive thought.
When disaster and bliss can both share the same air,
At a paradox party, I've nothing to wear.
When the targets keep moving it's hard to relax,
There's a glimmer of light but it quickly retracts.
I keep hoping that everything works itself out,
But there's always that place where I harbour a doubt.
I remember when time was a bountiful gift,
There were months upon months for the mountain to shift.
But the days drift away and the hurdles remain,
And my ears hear the echo of every grain,
As it falls from the timer and heralds concern
By the envelope bulging with language to learn.
If there's something to glean for the man and the mouse,
There is nothing so stressful as buying a house. ,