My nana taught my mother, who taught me

That no excuse exists for running late

A brain set to a task cannot be free

Inter the one who makes an elder wait

I face the price of running low on time

Resumed an errand after watching rail

Their operations flawless, else a crime

Analysis of rigour let me fail

Hand damaged when I fled the bridge too fast

By dangling length of fencing left to rust

Elect but fail to not repeat the past

A trickle of my blood falls to the dust

The power rests in what the clerics say

A surge, relief, he sends me on my way