Stop to Smell the Roses

Dedicated to my English teacher, who is the busiest man I have ever known. I talked to him about this once, and he replied that was most likely to appreciate the smell of roses more than anyone else in the school. He would gaze out the window in wonder and appreciation, and then continue walking and planning his next lesson, while simultaneously marking three different essays.
Day by day, an endless flurry.
Dawn til tusk, hurry hurry hurry.
Whiz past this, ignore that,
Keep it moving, no time to chat.
Appointments to make, commitments to keep,
A funeral bids, but there’s no time to weep!
A deadline approaches, gotta move it, fast;
Yesterday’s frenzy is already in the past.
Winter to spring, my how the seasons fly.
Sakura falls, but pass on by!
There’s a meal to cook, and a class to teach;
A needed holiday just out of reach.
And out the window, the trees seem to sigh,
Harmonised then with a seabird’s cry.
Up in the clouds, a most dazzling hue;
Silver lining and forget-me-not blue.
The grass, greener than you’ve ever seen;
Traces of heaven are all you can glean.
From the river, a siren sings;
Just out the window, all these wonderous things!
There’s only time to sigh and smile,
You can’t go out- not for a while.
These treasues on Earth will just have to wait,
There’s too much to do, and you can’t be late.
So turn away and pick up the pace,
Hurry along life’s headlong race.
And spare a moment, to wish forlorn,
To stop and smell the roses.
John Marshall

2 thoughts on “Stop to Smell the Roses

  1. Ivy says:

    Wow I haven’t read a poem by you for so long, much less, one not dedicated to me!There’s a good use of imagery, but for one poem so emphasizing on flurrying about, the movement and pace of it is far too drawn out. Perhaps if you spared the exclaimation marks and replaced them with fullstops will quicken the pace, yet at the same time create pauses symbolic to the nature of the poem. This poem is just a different feel, it doesn’t really leave an imposing message and is too casual and light. But if that’s what you’re going for, it’s a great job.
    Traces of heaven.

  2. […] certainly not the only one to find myself running short on time. (In fact, I wrote a rather amateur poem about it once.) My counsellor once told me that she works 6.5 days a week, often coming home at 8pm […]

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