Is it true that I like to confess?
The days linger like shadows in the evening.
At seventeen I considered suicide from a small bridge,
& now almost laugh at the evening.
Things don’t go as well as hound dogs
chasing prisoners through the evening.
Beechnut gum is made in Canajoharie
as the hired men smoke with the evening.
I have nothing to confess to anyone . . .
but I can feel Him coming, the hand of evening.
Interesting post reminds me of another gem. Adding manpower to a late software project makes it later. Attributed to Laws of Computer Programming
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