too bright a flame

 such easy choices made by those still young

who do not see the meanings of each hour

but hope to be there when the green woods flower

and other words come flying off the tongue

these are triumphs all of which we've sung

before old time could our weak hearts devour

in slender hope that's we'd still have the power

that from our last reserve of pain was wrung

no other option left but truth to tell

we'd go the same dull route if given chance

to start all over and redo the game

it's not as if we play it all that well

but more that we just know only this dance

and are afraid to show too bright a flame

a fact of growth

 the maples out in front are now in leaf

they're always late only the top is green

below they've budded with a reddish sheen

but all i know's the sight gives me relief

once more we're past the season of slow grief

and watch as down the street the youngsters preen

in repetition of an ancient scene

knowing the heat of summer won't be brief

what's left inside must still be given voice

to sing of what has been and what must come

that's honest truth the whole and not some part

since what we do is really not our choice

but what we must add to the human sum

out of our knowledge and by gentle art