My Way or the Highway
My way is to fly free,
Floating in space.
The highway goes only to and fro,
Keeping everyone in place.
My way is fresh flowers in the morning,
Full of color and grace.
The highway is hot concrete, tar and gravel
A most inhospitable place.
My way is lunch by the water,
Held at a languid, leisurely pace.
The highway is at traffic jam,
And a line at the fast food place.
My way is to follow the flow of knowledge,
Racing down every trace.
The highway is full of speed limits,
The State Patrol of pace.
There is a choice, you see,
And you, too, can find your place.
So, what will it be for thee?
My way or the highway?
Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull