The One Year Itch

Big dreams at stake as we fashion the bed that we’ll lie in
Thoughts turn to aspirations, to motivation, to what ifs and whens
Of each breath and each crooked step in the right, or wrong, direction

We could turn back the clock, reinvent the wheel
Catch hold of the chugging steam engine
Maybe that would make the task a little simpler
Achievable aims, realistic deadlines and all that

The February heat is as oppressive as the decisions ahead
Though it’s worth stepping into the flaxen sandals of others
Whose choice has been curtailed by mismanagement
By God and the greedy people who pour pig sauce on their trotters

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