The Race
The clocks have been changed
The days stay longer
In their place
Already
I am losing pace
The year begins
To tighten screws
Already
I begin to lose
A quarter of this year
Has gone
The year to me
Hardly begun
No matter
How I come and go
How I struggle
Toe to toe
No matter
How hard I try
To reconcile
To live and die
No matter
How to allay fear
To harmonise
The speeding year
No matter
How it’s dressed in rhyme
Already lost
The race with time
The Easter weekend always comes, to me, as a kind of marking-post in the year. Winter is over, we are now in the middle of Spring, with Summer fast approaching. I’m sure it must be a phenomena common to a lot of people, but, as I head towards my late sixties, I seem to be astonished, year after year, by how speedily the year seems to be passing. I started having the first thoughts about a poem on the subject when we changed the clocks a few weeks ago, to mark the change from GMT to BST, and “The Race” is the final result.
stewartstanzas 