Alas, promises made to children
Are easily broken, but the promises
Of childhood can last out a long lifetime, 
The free spirit of running through dry grass 
Never diminishes in some old legs. 

Perhaps what we seek or are waiting for, 
Is already ours, hidden in absence 
Or a strange sense of frozen energy
As winter hides itself with foggy dew, 
Finally the rain refreshing parched earth. 

All the little pills don’t keep us
Alive, they are supposed to delay death,
At least, that’s what Bach’s flowing music says, 
Look out at pools of falling rain and that’s
What you see from the confinement of rooms. 

Cocooned in the labyrinth of teen ears, 
There was the ineffable comfort of
A solo cello spinning round and round 
Riding the waves of dark, reassuring 
Anxious youth, that in old age, this 
Same music lifts up your spirit with love.