My Creation

I move at a snail’s pace

painstakingly slow.

The world around me

I watch as it runs.

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash

Barely any decades under my belt, yet I feel an old soul

The shadow looms over me providing all the shade I could ever need…

or want.

So much shade, I can’t see who is responsible

I sit. It’s too late.

I hear rain.

Yet I remain dry.