People on their way to their mundane jobs
worried by the past
hurried by the future
busy like bees in a mad rush for honey.
One among the herd is me
never looking right
nor looking left
always marching straight.
Back in some past when I was a child
some where on this path a small coin I lost
the coin they call joy.
There it must still be
trampled deep into the earth
by the horde of hurried feet.
Any time I've time I think I can dig it out
if time lets me have some time.