A tiny man that I am, I sit and wait and watch and think, not only of what was, but of what is and what could be,
Pushed as I am, by environ' and fate, to the brink;
where lost have I all edge of reason, irrespective of season,
I introspect and think of what could have been, what should have been and verily what should be.
Confusion is rife; moments of clarity in conjunction with spells of misty wit, but complacency is king,
this confounded complacency that drives me to the edge of the great pit; the road is wide with a few gaping holes,
holes which I can avoid, but my legs move towards them on their own; I peek from the top towards the bottom,
with a frightening fascinating.
All emotions converge to one, a motley of motions have I become, move as I do in the plains and hills,
The bright sunshine is in stark contrast to the chilly air;
where have gone those days when without care,
I used to wander on these very roads?
It is wiser to belief, to accept, to walk the oft tread paths, for not all are meant for greatness, and fewer still,
Aspire to those exalted heights. Waste, what an utter waste are these faculties, nourished and nurtured have I,
with exquisite love and tender care. All knowledge and experience gone to waste, tiny I was and tiny I remain.