By some happenstance, I have an hour to spare,
How to fill it with meaning- moments like this are rare.
I can churn a poem, or use it to rest and heal,
By taking care of myself, the day I can better deal.
Imagine the horror, if I had a week to kill,
I could waste one day, but there would be 6 days still.
I could craft a collection, or plan a vacation well,
Collect some memories to hang on, for the upcoming 358 days hell.
That I'm going on a sabbatical, leaves everyone amused,
At the prime of my life, some years improperly used.
Make poetry a side hustle, or go on a globe-trotting trip,
Make the best use of downtime, which will disappear in a blip.
I don't want to optimize for time or experiences, I just want to gently while away,
Publishing my poems may bring fame and money, but to get lost in the process is more my way.
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