The colt from old regret that got away
Made hay while the sun shone, sowed its
wild oats,
Switched midstream, whatever floated its
boat,
Lucky enough finding out the hard way.
Regret, being regret, studied its bet.
What-ifs and how-comes absorb and bother
It’s a horse of another colour
Wishing it all back, assessing the debt.
There was movement at the station the
word
Getting out about these shenanigans.
“Horses bolted.” “The worm, the early
bird.”
Youth will have its way, say the old
masters
Longing for that ride of a lifetime again
As they put themselves out to pasture.
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