I make notes to my self
writing in the stillness of recollections
one after another
the goals missed
the excuses given
the chickens come home to roost
and you know the day is at the end
and the count of feathers falling
and the volume of tittering
inspires your dread of failure
but I will stand up again
older and wiser and better
because the sun will come out
and the chicks will hatch
the cocks and the cockerels will raise their voice
and we all go out again
to do that which must be done.
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