The life of the dutiful kind
Earlier I turned the corner, the sleepy morning had casts its fog
embracing the buildings, concealing the rivers and folding its breath
around those men and creatures who’d already risen to go find their chores.
I tightened the collar around my neck, and wondered how I could hardly remember those warm days that just had flown by, when sunrays tickled the earth to cough up the crop, and a dog that lolled in a bed of grass. The present blurred my sight, I had lost the vision of bygones and past.
“Press on, press on!”, a wind gust was urging, “life lies before you and regret’s left behind”.
I crossed the street, a figure flitted by. A life just like mine:
joy and family, sadness and work. No sooner come, it had already gone,
and of none to no importance to me.
One day we’ll both be dead.
“Others will follow and look to the future”, the river was chuckling, when spring and summer still lie ahead”.
I shivered and shuddered; The cold or the thought? Not sure if the that water
under the bridge looked alluring for a moment or two.
I quickened my step, I pierced through the mist, and focused hard to conjure up a sun.
“No dutiful life is dire and vain”, the leaves started rustling, “you still have your autumn; and snow is too far.”