By Andrew R. Duckworth
I stood in my place
Just as I was told.
No running the race-
No place for my bold.
Why am I unwise?
It comes when you’re old-
Midday from sunrise-
It’s my voice I sold.
What’s left for the voice
That’s left in the cold?
So much for my choice-
I do what I’m told.
And now we’re all here
Where sun doesn’t rise.
The outcome is clear-
I should have been wise.
Poetry of Andrew Ryan Duckworth 