Some days seem a month of Sundays long,
With time to redo, to right any wrong.
If plenty to tackle, that seems fine,
But if idle and anxious, who stretches time?
The new year is here, 2019 is history.
We face 2020 with blanks and mystery.
Intentions and failures might haunt us now,
Best-laid plans lost in last year’s vows.
Who gives time permission to speed?
When passions emerge, or frantic needs,
I want more of it, not less,
To erase pains and savor happiness.
It’s less what I have, more what I do.
If my world’s out of tempo, I can’t simply stew.
Do-nothing attitudes help little improve.
I’ll make worthy plans, find my own groove.