When I was just a little boy
I’d wonder thoughts of a man
How soon beyond this simple toy
would life become a void if I ran
away, apart from all that I love
searching again for that above
As then my teens would turn on me
the reckoning of coming of age
yet, what if instead I might decree
a liberty, desire to remain. I’d wage
a war on the passions that imply
that now today has become my lie.
For when the winds of November call
seems always we are falling down.
The blues of winter become visible
while we seek shelter, she her gown
drapes the countryside with that layer
of frozen tears, an ominous arctic prayer
Seems yesterday I was that little kid
playing about without a worry in my mind
each morning, in bloom a new orchid
that gave solace with little need to remind
me of a future that would cause such pain
I’d rather wander slow than reach for gain.