Eleven thirty, and I’ve done enough
so far today to take a break deserved.
Four hours straight I’ve spent in doing stuff
for others more than me, and so much curved
our path beneath the winter morning sun
that I have shrunk my shadow to a speck,
but come approaching noon the shrinking’s done,
and I’ve another chance to self-project.

That often am I duly authorized
to dance before my shadow in the glow
December makes. A chance is hardly prized
when it comes daily twice, but even so
I’ll take a timely opportunity
to value all the chances given me.