As if hands greased,
Many are beginning to realize...
Lives they planned with schedules,
And priorities...
Slips freely from their grip,
To be mysteriously released.
Those with lists of preferences,
Are wishing they knew...
What the next five minutes will bring.
And everything that had been sacred,
No longer guarantees...
Once stable and dependable traditions,
To rely upon with a familiar singing.
As if hands greased,
Many are beginning to realize...
Lives they planned with schedules,
And priorities...
Slips freely from their grip,
To be mysteriously released.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem