Like horses galloping
Into the distant wild,
The days rush by,
As though in a bid
To get to the finishing line.
And we cannot hold our horses,
For they have bolted,
The gate behind us
Firmly held shut
By a heavy lock.
So all we can do,
Is to hold on tight,
Almost for our dear lives
At times,
And squeeze our eyes shut
If we must,
To keep at bay
The storm of dust
On a dreary day,
And also the blur
Of the rushing years.
Our course steadfast,
Aided by our North Star,
And the few score,
Of prized memories
That we hold dear.
Chasing Sunshine 