There are those people who're always running around

For they cannot sit still for any length of time, bound

They need to create for themselves an image of busy-ness

Whether they are indeed so, or just overturned in a mess



Of disorder and unrealized, quite unfocused goals

Which did send them in circles, and getting old

And as they come to the realization all they have

Is contacts ... and very few of these are real, save



For those with whom they've connected and shared space

These may be lovers, friends or others in good grace

For whom their interconnections had no real time frame

And the likelihood is great these happened in the same



Way, and thus did have in common one or more traits

And the first and primary one is the absence of gates

Along with bells and whistles which signalled hours

Passed, for in that lack, their connection flowered.



- Tristram