There was a time
I’d be pissed off right now,
5:30 on a Saturday morning,
Unsure about the weather,
And a half three hours away.
In the day, I’d be scrambling
Now I’m writing poetry,
Thinking about the dreams I had,
And looping an Anders Osborne song
In my head with only one coomplaint,
I don’t know enough of the words.
Distances are distances,
Times are times.
The race will get started,
I’ll finish whenever,
And maybe the rain will hold off
Or the dreams will come to life.