Why does everything pass me by
and make me feel redundant?
Why are people so pre-occupied,
rushing by me, so expectant?
If life is defined by the pace we go
I am not sure who I am or why,
because I move so slowly now,
I cannot hurry, even though I try!
But, surely life is more than pace,
we miss so much by speeding;
vital details blur as you flash by
which, going slower, I’m reading.
What is progress after all, if we
have no time to watch or wait,
to see nature’s unfolding grace
put simple treasures at our gate.
Spring trees bursting into bloom,
lambs playing tag across a field,
fledglings waiting to be fed, are
little events that each day yield.
Moments of beauty, or of fun,
like doves bowing and cooing
in courtship dance. Who won?
This year has brought more space
to reflect on the things we do,
how much time gallops by, as
we search in vain for what is new.
Life in the slow lane isn’t wasted,
you can see, and hear much more,
when you are rooted to the spot,
and find the wonder at your door.
May 2021