A Busy Day

It’s a busy day; it’s a busy dust of time

Its’ all been very busy ever

So never was calm or quite here after

As it was a little more that could satisfy your sore

But out it went abroad to never make you stop

All for now all that is rolling and heaving

More and more would that tempest be

What a damp of grief meant for

Why would sun run short of day?

Yes, it asks; oh where it goes

Prizes are won, culprit gets the bar

Ships sails too far and sky has tiny stars

Where would they all meet in the end of the day?

Where would you see such a day to stage your valley?

Out of the weird age do you find your rally?

Too far that you have known

These days comes after long

When you find yourself resting at home

So when you pick the known flower

And smell the savor of sweet hour

as your day hardens and hardens

Remember the taste of solitude that forever stays