When nothing else is left
we will think of what we had
When nothing else is left to do
we will search for a thing not done
The finish line is never reached
For there will be the end
A knowing man may slow the pace
And doubt that the race will be run again
When we slow to a steady walk
And watch others still run and fall
We take a breath, throw off our shoes
and see that it was not a race at all.
DSS
DistantShipSmoke 