Indecision is an itchy pair of pants.
rubbing against your thigh.

Carrying the weight of the future
Is a heavy burden.

Far away lakes dream
of holding less,
of releasing the spring flood
all at once to the marsh.

Standing on a street comer,
waiting for the light to change.
There is little time and it is a long way.
Go or wait and change your plans?

Butter or margarine?
Marry or keep looking?
Let hate set up shop in your soul
or wake up?

Indecision has the balls of a fly,
but you my dear, are a race horse.

Either way you are ultimately sunk,
but the scenery is better on the horse.

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