Annoyed by the tick of a clock I cannot see,
I hear a countdown in my head
Of decisions lost in time and age.
My toes crackle and pop as I wiggle,
Trying to restore circulation and warm them.
It would be easy to despair
Over the days I was given to waste,
But a little boy calls to me from another room,
A young child with everything to live for,
Precious little memory,
And too few moments left to spend.
It is desperately unfair to him
That his presence teaches joy
In lessons he will never get to know.
No dreams of president or astronaut,
Nor baseball player, racing cars.
For him, the clock in his head
Is already sounding alarms and ringing bells,
But there is no fireman to save him from the din.
There is only love and toys,
And a seed that keeps growing larger
In luxuriously fertile ground.