Quick apology:  This poem was meant to be created yesterday.  Sometimes sleep wins the night.  I fell asleep before posting yesterday’s poetry.  Mea culpa…

In my days of lazy, barefoot wanderings

Sometimes too caught up in my ponderings

I would sometimes find myself into trouble

Filled with grace, like hopping on a bubble

That while I might slip and possibly slide

It would turn into something taken in stride

It wasn’t anything, no how meant intentional

Just a life lived just outside of the conventional

The beat of a different drum had it’s syncopation

Somehow matching up to my twist of fascination

Stopping to smell the roses really didn’t hurt anyone

Now as I get older, there seems very little that’s undone

And that which is I will get to if you simply, quietly ask

I tell you as I point to your lives lived under your worn masks

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