Arriving at the petrol station at 6,checking if I’ve chosen the diesel pump,
Half asleep,still full of cold,feeling sorry for myself,down in the dumps.
Across the forecourt,a women fills up with unleaded,she looks tired,not rested,
Maybe she full of cold,maybe a member of her family is very ill,not the best.
Sometimes our own she’ll of existence hides our own turmoils,
Others have their demons too,on that depressing pan that boils.
As I drive off the forecourt,last on my own thoughts,
Spare a thought for your fellow human,spare a thought for them too.