Yesterday, while being young, life had a certain taste. Rain was songs unsung. The being's continually knit and unstrung. Many passed through the doors of this life. The taste was bittersweet;loneliness was not meet. The road oft traveled was at times futile. Later, it took on the characteristics of a Jericho mile. Multitudes were greeted with sadness and a smile. I shook politicians hands;each hand felt the same. I never wanted to be an insider in the power game.
Who is it that is buffer between the poor and the rich? Will there be a '7' or a '4' year itch? How old would I be in 2000? I thought on it yesterday. Some said the real money was in oil. Others said it was in the laundry. The true enemy was ethereal in high places. Laughter used to be the music of the soul. Now, 'tis the sought balm of Gilead. Last time I checked, my breath was still malodorous. Such is how it is today and yesterday.
