It starts with expectancy
The anticipation of success
The impossible possibility
To achieve
Success, a short stroll down
The path of sun strewn light
Gold and bright
Failure unconsidered
Brute strength will see it through
Sun, the silent witness
Rises, leaves her tent
To watch if strength alone
Is strong enough to win the day
And wreath of victory claim
The mid-point reached
The golden globe does pause
With wisdom’s poise
And weighs what has been done
Tis usual to find
What has been done, feather weight
Against what is required
Tis in the aureate season
When autumnal colours infect our souls
And shadows cast long palls
Hind sight gifts its clarity
Tis then, we often find
That what we did was not required
A simpler, more important thing was missed
The wise will pause mid-point
To consider and reflect
And fools will hurry on
Before their strength gives out
I wonder, did I choose
The simpler more important thing


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