The Slow-Moving Crowds

When passing down a city street

     Your visage wreathed in woe,

Because the crowds you pass and meet

     All move so very slow,

You have a deep, impatient sigh,

     Because you cannot bolt

Full speed ahead, with head held high,

     And give the crowd a jolt.

How slow the world moves, is your thought,

     It’s far too slow for you;

You sort of think it should be taught

     To speed a cog or two,

But let me tell you frankly, Bo,

     Rush madly, blindly on,

The lagging crowd will come and go

     When you are dead and gone.

Oct. 14, ‘10