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

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  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