There are so many minutes in a day
that it may not seem much to waste a few;
yet these small fragments, worthless as they may
seem, once they are exhausted, life is through.

They pass without much notice, or remark,
absorbed in larger, more important things;
but when you spend them, sleepless, in the dark,
you hear the quiet song that each one sings.

Seize hold this song, and learn each phrase by heart;
for this tune is the soundtrack to the script
that you write with each breath and every move.

Like letters forming words, so small they start —
before you notice, paragraphs have slipped
across the page, and once writ, don’t improve.

30 AUG 2003

inspired by reading William Wordsworth

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