by Gloria Sarasin
Running, running, here I go
To catch my tail but I'm so slow
And lagging, dragging, my behind
To try to catch up with my mind.
on my tongue
That is often too high-strung,
Dropping words I have to eat
And spitting them upon my feet.
Keeping up with things today
than my words can say
For every time I think I've won,
There I fall down on my bun.
My body's old, my mind is young;
Upon a cloud, my dreams are
And so if you should see me cry,
You will know the cloud's passed by.
Slower, slower, now I go
Like Wisconsin winters in the snow,
you want to walk with me,
You'll have to slow down or carry me.