In commemoration of 10,000 hits on marsupialmumbles.blogspot.com
On time I ride
Even when I'm not always on time.
Upon my stride that I confide
What can be ours and what remains mine.
And then there are hours, and then there's a line.
There's more than one, actually.
The line that's a fence is a fallacy.
Because the point of a fence is a point encased, this point, no further.
And then there's the real line. The one that has its purpose, in that in it ends in forever.
Which is why we have forwards.
As in the little button.
How we're gluttons.
Because we always want to know how it ends.
That we're not interested if the line is straight, or if it bends.
Maybe that's a good thing though. I'm sure the line wouldn't mind.
When one's sole purpose is just to go on, some company would be, you know, just fine.
I think so anyway. Even though I'm not exacly a line.
And even less often in a line. Though I try not to be out of line.
Though sometimes I whine. But that's ok too, so long as I do it with a little charm.
I mean, what's the harm?
I little twirl is always becoming.
It helps you hit the ground running.
I should swim soon. Though running isn't bad.
But you can't run around the moon.
But if you swim, you just might meet a line.
And on time, and in good company, we ride on time.
Even if you're not exactly on time.
Even if you're not a kangaroo.
And really, that's ok too.