Feel free to skip in line
It’s just my time
Hear that sound, that old fashioned type writer right hook kick
Sliding back to the left of the page
When times were simple
That’s where we start
Blank and crisp, the start of something new
Think back in time to that decision
Which put you where you are
You may not know, but you’ve come far
So very far since those garden times
Looking at yourself in the mirror in the sun
How lucky we are to be where we are
Journeying into uncertainty doesn’t seem too bad
It’s what we are made to do
No one has the answer
But the one in your head
Is the greatest of all
Your world is your own
Don’t spurn those opportunities
Take a leaf, but never a branch
By Samuel Fawcett
Parisian Poetry 