I leave in a confused state
Like I’ve been hit by a prison mate
Though I have no one to hate
I still live my life with people to rate.

I ask, only to be told to wait
Like when I proposed to Kate
I tread on the sandy soils of Kuwait
As I pray not to be a bait

I keep pushing up the weight
For the future I foresee to be great
My success I taste on wooden plate
Even in icy lands I shall skate

Cos I’m guided by the ancestral traits
Beautiful as Mother Earth’s plaits
Under the full moon I carry my crate
Oh Lord let my path be straight.

I fear! for I sense the date
That which He opens his gate
I pray with the hearts of eight
That I shall be there when He collates.

All copyright reserved © Haymaker 2015