long waiting

 at this dark curve of the long mountain road

the signpost tells us just where we must go

those little places we are meant to know

but do not speak of method nor of mode

the yellow finger is a sort of goad

to warn us that our pace is yet too slow

our feet must hasten so we catch the glow

and make most certain that our goods are stowed

not here but soon a true signal will come

to clarify just who must keep the score

and who depart and lose the chance at fame

so much depends on true tone of the drum

not how or where each of us comes ashore

but only that we must accept the blame

(no subject)

 an echo of the past resolves to pain

no matter what we do none can escape

all stand bedraggled in the autumn rain

 

who thought to win was first to fall off wain

the furthest off from the finishing tape

an echo of the past resolves to pain

 

it takes no wisdom to note the hard strain

of those who holding matters in firm shape

all stand bedraggled in the autumn rain

 

not daring to look up nor to complain

while foolish mouths are all of them agape

an echo of the past resolves to pain

 

some facts are set out very clear and plain

as both bright angel and dull foolish ape

all stand bedraggled in the autumn rain

 

we must lament the loss of normal brain

which must explain how we are in this scrape

an echo of the past resolves to pain

all stand bedraggled in the autumn rain

under the same stars

 this permitted we have grace to caper

from dusk to dawn as the leaves redly fall

marking the season with a noble ball

each bright dancer bearing amber taper

notes now shining on the golden paper

make our demands seem piteously small

as watchers wonder why we had the gall

to think our hottest wishes more than vapour

now time must move in tandem with the sun

our hearts obey an older slower law

while in their nests the summer birds still wait

far to the south where warmth is never done

but nature rules with equally harsh claw

a younger person wonders at his fate