I’m sorry

I’m sorry

It’s gone

I can’t keep it in.

I thought that I could 

but I can’t seem to win.

Time is my friend, 

I’ve heard it been told 

but why does it feel

Like I’m just getting old?

I’m sharing with you 

That I just want to hide

And scurry about 

The path that’s outside,

Between the old trees 

and different built houses.

And to find a sweet nest 

for my wee little mouses.

It’s true that I’m odd,

It’s not black nor it’s white, 

the choices abound 

through the day and the night, 

and to top it all off 

I still lack the sight 

To figure which way 

is the left or the right.

If I manage this rainbow

In it’s various phases,

Is it possible?

Will it help?

In all of the mazes?

Where the question is asked 

throughout all the ages?

And is rarely revealed but

to a few different sages.

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