In the rush of hours, fleet and grim,
We chase the ends, the means grow dim;
A blur of goals where joy should be,
We miss the dance, the heart’s marquee.

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Each tick-tock steals a breath of life,
As we wage our silent strife.
Results reign king in our pursuit,
While wilted joys lay underfoot.

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Yet pause a moment, see the truth:
That joy in steps enhances youth.
When laughter fills our tasks, our toil,
The soil grows rich where we do moil.

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Imagine, if with each stride we take,
A heart is light, a spirit wakes.
Our outcomes then, not just achieved,
But celebrated, deeply breathed.

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In this race against our fate,
Let’s not just run; let’s dance, create.
For life’s true prize, in plainest sight,
Is found not in mere height,
But in loving every minute,
The journey—joy, and all within it.