Resulting

I tried for moderation while away.
I slowed, digesting sight instead of treat.
In storing fresh impressions every day,
I moved with care my mouth and hands and feet.
Refraining from opinion, to delay
a rush to judgment that would fail to meet
success or help a personality,
my aim was soft and softly tempered me.

This entry was posted in Aging, Poetry, Transit and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a comment