Unfolding in a frantic dance,
The drama of a game outplayed,
It's dives and falls and swift ascension,
Barely with the plan though quite delayed,
In all the beads of sweat:
The form of slowly progress rears a head.

A forgotten dreamland,
Caught up in mauve and roman red,
Fermented light adrift the curving ribbons,
They nestle into winding winds,
A depth of cloth fallen into sand,
Like blood coral on the lilac bed,
I sink bellow to deep ebon,
All that's mauve and red is dimmed,
My legs are warmed and filled with lead,
The surface of the deep is soft,
Up, up! I'm met with ribbons in the chiming wind aloft.

Walking slowly,
Is a great pleasure of mine,
To breath deeply,
And gaze at the world through eyes that shine.

Often I am walking quickly,
To a lesson,
To a train,
To a service,
To my home again.

I like the moments when I can walk slowly,
To take in the sights,
And watch the many people passing by,
People are quite beautiful, right?

Slow and quick,
Humble and proud,
Growing and in step with old patterns.

There's great hope for them,
Someone's nocking, you see.