“Leisure” by W. H. Davies
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad...
She wasn’t happy or sad,
in love or out of love,
she was just there
in the ebb and flow of life—
and that was a dangerous place to be
but her worst mistake
was forgetting to remember
there was more.