Facing strong into the wind,
Bearing empty denial days, 
Marching through dung, disaster, death.

Smiling thru when spit flies backward.
Swinging past the biting asp
Joining the centuries of matched kin. 

The answer is always no, wait, suffer
In silence, it will all pass someday 
After you have long ceased to care.

Where is the sin in wanting redemption
Today before I wrinkle, fade and limp? 
The pawn broker’s clock is  lifetime slow. 

K. Bruce Florence