Softly,
padding through my room,
while I wish away the distance,
a tiger in a cage,
Hannibal behind the glass,
scenting l'air du temps
which you're not wearing today.
Swagger in my corridors,
with the ursine gait
of the b-ball court,
feinting,
protecting from a fall
in the same way
I placed myself for a defence duel.
Airy, I trot to my children,
pressed for time
always so little...
Exultant, I walk to the railway,
to meet you,
though I know the likely outcome.
The return,
best left,
you can't simply win them all.
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