fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
dusting of stars
up in the sky
the lights of cars
go swiftly by
a single tree
covered with lights
is what i'll see
on all these nights
too cold to walk
too old to dance
no time to talk
a proper chance
to be inside
away from cold
no place to hide
the storied gold
an age or two
may slowly pass
what's old is new
returning grass
we long for spring
and its warm light
the kind of wing
for honest flight
and so we pause
and think a while
of the firm laws
that none defile
the time to smile
the time to speak
the longest while
the shortest week

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

 the double choice of which way on the road
a sort of abstract made by one who knows
that journeys all must come to the same end
a moment more and there's a better choice
what leads us home may be the route of pain
but sorrow cannot keep us from true love
in truth it's hard in this place to be lost
since every path comes in the end to sea
and over the blue waves is freedom's home
none speaks of this under the mango leaf
but heart turns kinder when the moon is bright
and things are clearer then than in daylight
youth ends too soon in face of normal grief
the life of duty will not let us roam
our only option's not to let things be
following rules has we will find a cost
hard fist is gentled by the leather glove
sight comes to us and all things become plain
we listen to the ones with pleasant voice
true vision shows that trails must twist and bend
we'll take the allamanda not the rose
echoes we find in this fantastic mode

fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
tell one to climb and they will surely fall
tell one to hurry and they're sure to stall
the one who answers didn't hear the call
and she who hesitates might have a ball

let each voice die and others swiftly rise
the one who pauses will not win the prize
a moment then we have to organise
you see your best through ordinary eyes

soon comes the night and then it's time to weep
the dragons come when you are fast asleep
through every dream the monsters quiet creep
you want to paddle but you're in too deep

instead of gold you've chosen all the dross
you turn a loser when you could be boss
upon the stone there's a thick pile of moss
you should be happy but instead you're cross

regard the tree you think of its great weight
time passes but you think it not too late
to do the things now proper to your state
you want first class but you will travel freight

so in the night you hear the wolf respire
and hurry but know you can get no higher
for far too soon you will slow down and tire
between the hunter and the hungry fire
fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)
what we have done is less than we could do
the way to overcome is never short
but how we do it when we find our port
is not the thing that's easiest to view

in all the ways that we account as sport
do not the marks of victory deny
for what from this perspective we descry
may change appearance once we have it caught

when from the hands of fate the truth we pry
what does it matter if we then forget
all these affairs which led us to regret
with sun's appearance we reject the lie

we know reality in hard ice is set
that can be melted and again refrozen
if we refuse each time to take the chosen
still every deadline will at last be met

winter will end and then the final frozen
shards will to liquid and to summer turn
the time will come when all of us may earn
the prize of patience and the drink ambrosian

and yet with inner heat we will in winter burn
the last of our old selves to cleanse the new
all of our hopes we believe will come through
and for that consummation we now yearn


fledgist: Me in a yellow shirt. (Default)

March 2015

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