looking backward

[fledgist]

at end of journey no place left to flee

but still we crave what lies beyond the reef

not knowing yet all of the modes of grief

each tacks their name upon the waiting tree

you tell us simply wait and let time be

leave urgency and haste to the old thief

too soon we'll mourn each swiftly falling leaf

and far too soon will curse the hateful sea

right now the sun fills the whole world with gold

there seems no barrier to clearest truth

all of our senses proclaim highest noon

no one will speak of days both dark and cold

or tell us all the sournesses of ruth

but now we want to hide in a cocoon