My new pace

I do not need first place

in order to find my true PLACE.

I no longer humour in my tail to chase.

Nor in my pocket do I hide the Ace

To pull out when too tired to face

my life.

My protective can of mace

defending against any trace

of fluid space.

I yearn for the grounding sounds of the bass,

no longer the shrill violin fresh out of its case.

I search for wild flowers to fill the vase

in its place

of absolute grace.

I leave behind the steeplechase

and send to you now a warm embrace,

hoping to meet you face to face

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