There will always be more
prize to win—more self to
be—and bonds to free—
dare I, coffee wrapped in
hand, a croissant docked be-
side and dogs yipping in
the amber weekend sun—
there will always be more
fun to have—and work to
run—and sins to clean and
then the kitchen, too—tho
dare I say, there’s more to
me than time and chore—
more than dinner made
and children bore—and
yes, between the all and all
I say and see in reverie:
there’s more of life to do.