I’m unsure of how we’re nearing the end of June

 

The year has sprinted past us in a dizzying chronicle of dates, quick kisses and to-dos

 

I don’t know what day it is in the heat of the nearing solstice sun

 

Each passing birthday my earthly revolutions seem a little faster spun

 

Unsure of what I’m doing, waffling back and forth between the need to sit down and to run

 

The increasing speed in which my life’s interludes conclude quickens the urgency to find the certain

 

Be it a proclamation as a deacon, henchman, vixen, or nun

 

I think I’ll just keep guard of the coven door

For there are no answers

And I’m assuredly having fun