Days gallop by, months, years, so fast
that panic of a sort sets in:
you feel that all the dreams you had
have slipped away, it’s all too late,
so when the scent of what’s escaped
drifts on the wind, your nostrils twitch
and, disregarding all the rules,
you follow it in hot pursuit.
In consequence, lives are destroyed:
homes, futures, harmony and hearts.
Too late, for what you lost, you yearn.
Old dogs, new tricks? They never learn.
Richard Fleming
