Haste is boring, boring holes for rabbits and owls
To jump and romp in darkness without towels
When by haste she opened the bathroom door,
There was a rabid dog, who was not looking to score,
Had she peered little by little to the room,
Where was the need to run for a katana or a broom?
Haste is current, currently rushing and forcing
A lightning to strike that tramp’s piercing
Who was at his business under the oak tree
Unaware of hasty bolts after his wet laundry
Had he wondered and gone to school at twelve
Would he not have placed the science of haste on top of his wooden shelve?
Haste is a pale, craggy, bald, midget bitch
Which strays babies, adults, Gods, you, me to glitch.
Haste and Patience divorced long ago at the First Fire
To nest in fears with inextinguishable desire.