From my childhood,
It hasn't changed. The clouds still roll In the heavens And wind shakes the branches Of the trees that line the highway. And the warming spring With its stubborn, Willful, Obstinate insistence, Refuses to unbe, Or even to bend To these lower fables That propel the hosts of men Toward the abyss. When was it That we became So adult As to believe That there is anything So important as these? When did we loose track Of that childlike faith That lies upon its back Of a summer day And wastes it away In musing? I don't know, But I think we lost A thing not worth loosing. And, call it folly, I'm going back, Back to the days When I believed That someone, Somewhere Was looking out for me. Will you come? Will you leave the thing You think you want But can never really have For the pace That sees The April breeze In the clouds that float o'erhead? I'm leaving. And if you contemplate it for a while, You'll agree That the time for departure has come? We'll leave And we won't come back Accept in the reflections Of sunlit leaves. It's there we'll meet The lost ones here below By refusing to unbe. We'll warm them With the love That remembers When they could also see. And one by one, We'll gather them To the thing they lost Until all who will, Refuse to leave. And then we'll shut the door Behind us.
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