A parade marches by:
flashing lights and loud music,
cheering and children,
and I sit in a quiet café.
I guess age has made me cold,
cut me off from the wonder of childhood:
what is this parade for?
Christmas, but why the parade?
A father asks his son:
"why are you playing that game?"
His son shrugs and continues,
"I don't know, it's fun."
What use is miserable productivity
if you can't have fun sometimes?
Work yourself to the bone
so you're easier to bury.
-Zero
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