In the years to come,
I see blury proffercies,
Proffercies of things to come.
In the years behind,
I see things that went,
From clear to blurry.
The present is a clear idea,
The past is a blurry memory,
The future is an unclear thought.
In all we are in rush,
A rush to finish,
A rush to stop,
But never a rush to stay.
-Anna 5/13/97