A Lonely Lament
Already seventeen thousand nine hundred
and seventy six days lived this life is
With several more thou to go?
I ask you. (Yes YOU)
Or maybe merely a few
or possibly as little as less than.
I guess not too many left remaining,
of such small days as these
so soon to be over with
to be too sorry for or complaining.
Hardly any, barely enough
to finally, at last
get to where I was going to
was going to all along.
