Too Early, Too Late

By John Herlihy

Some things arrive too early, other things too late;

We recognize such discrepancies that never abate.

Timing is a mechanism with a protocol all its own;

It cannot be controlled any more than wind blown.

I vacated mother’s womb to greet the world early;

I cried bloody murder and my face appeared surly.

My toes looked like stubs; my fingers looked tender;

A moment, such that it was, I cannot remember.

My mother put me into kindergarten far too early,

Cast amid ragamuffins to meet life’s hurly-burley.

I couldn’t make heads or tails how to read or write;

I dug in my heels and scribbled anything for spite.

As a young adult, I entered far too early the world,

To face life’s responsibilities as if into a pit hurled.

Each day brought me challenges to make a decision,

The loom of life’s tapestry to weave with precision.

Arriving too early I always make the same mistake;

I end up waiting for others who enjoy coming late.

If I should happen to arrive late, I feel I did wrong;

I always wonder whether I kept others waiting long.

It’s never too early to witness the first light of dawn;

It’s never too late to see light in the eyes of a fawn.

It’s always too early when we jump to conclusions;

It’s always too late to be trapped by false illusions.

When I arrive to a place late, I try to make amends;

There is an element of understanding among friends.

When I show up to a party too early, I feel quite foolish,

As if I were overexcited, anxious, or just plain clueless.

Frustration never goes unnoticed if it comes too early;

Encouragement goes unnoticed if it comes too late.

Love is always welcome when it comes to me early;

Love can be truly forlorn when it comes to me too late.

The trouble with early and late lies in the meaning of time;

We think we can regulate the clock, the passing sun is mine.

When I arrive too early, i store an abundance of passing hours.

When I arrive too late, I squander time and its latent powers.

Now in my dotage, there is one last event to grace life’s stage,

One last, inevitable appointment bound to crown my age.

Will I arrive at that distant land to late or perhaps too early,

To pass thru fire and brimstone or heavenly gates pearly.

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(c) John Herlihy November 2018