To Be Never Late.

By Rushda Saba

Soon I am home,

my pen upon writing,

thinking, I shouldn't be late.

It's been three hours, five hours,

keep writing, so possessed.

I remember its last day: today.

I had to see my sick grandpa,

but couldn't make it.

At last, register should be made,

failed to find the plateform.

I am screwed! It's yesterday, the last date?

realizing, commencing itself late.

Didn't return empty handed,

got a lesson all along: To Be Never Late.

By Rushda Saba