Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
There was a man under the great tree
Sitting and reading philosophy
He would stand up and see the crowd
Dancing and discussing
From the atom to the universe
He would say his greetings
And join for a shot of whiskey
Or any other bubble that blurs your body
He would tell them his name
His specialty, his job, his story
And everyone would be pleased
He would dance, even if he can't
And forget about his existence
He would be a speck, not a man
He would leave his phone inside
And put down his favourite work of Plato
Stop calculating, and dim his watch
He would know that the next morning
would be better.
He put down his book,
Look up to the night
The so very indifferent black sky
Only lit by the phone in his hand
And the lamp by his bed with a black duvet.
