Mango Walk

of normal understanding where all mirth

fades into nonsense decent folk of worth

demand some movement onto higher ground

and are not angered at the empty sound

of foolish entities announcing birth

into a world of vacancy and dearth

of absence both astounding and profound

so when we choose against the very grain

of normal love and standardizing time

there is a point when each must hold the line

reject all silly choices and the stain

that comes when every turn must lead to crime

instead look up and note the noble sign

but are so confident in their deep sense

of this old world that their most sharp intense

demand does not presage some sort of trap

and yet we fall the pain comes in a slap

we have been fooled there's no means of pretense

the shock is sudden and the hurt immense

and it will take a whole life to unwrap

the meaning that is hidden in the deep

caverns of time in which we now must hide

both pain and fortune still there is a while

between the losses and the hope we keep

where salves exist for both respect and pride

and in that space the memory of a smile

of hill and forest where the winter sun

sheds little warmth but hope enough to run

into dark trees just where the young birds fledge

right past the glades where the spring lovers pledge

up to the hills now when the hunt is done

the rest will know just what reward is won

and what has died upon the mountain ledge

there is a truth beyond all human gain

that we extract from every sacrifice

without regard to what each must endure

just to achieve it both the thrill and pain

that are the fullest payment of the price

and for the which there is no certain cure

the time of fruiting and the ways of light

the meanings of the lily and the rose

to all who pause to watch as each plant grows

in its true place as firm hands set it right

the garden's keeper is the one who knows

when to stay calm and just when to disclose

the secret word that guards from every blight

the meanings of the lily and the rose

that in their beds do far more than repose

for the pure delectation of our sight

the garden's keeper is the one who knows

the proper manner of setting the rows

to mimic motion and to arrest flight

the meanings of the lily and the rose

are not in words still less in strikes and blows

against the passage that leads into night

the garden's keeper is the one who knows

the meanings of the lily and the rose

so we are clear that in the winter sun

beneath the cloudless sky when all is cold

though all is bright our hearts are not consoled

by any knowledge the good times are done

while an uncertain epoch has begun

when the best folk are not doomed to be old

when crab his kingdom has now been foretold

so that the countdown clock is on its run

we seldom grieve the brightness of the day

until we see the stars in the night sky

and then declare the sunlight was too brief

for all we had to do or had to say

yet know the while that our words are a lie

to cover up a monumental grief

in clearest harmony with measure fair

so that past winter we may see new spring

we early learn the value that we'll bring

to the fresh task our hopes are more than air

each word is chosen that the whole may sing

of coming magics and the truths that cling

to every heart in times of hard despair

so that past winter we may see new spring

throw out green shoots and let new branches swing

on the young trees light will once more be clear

each word is chosen that the whole may sing

in tones that reach the bird on highest wing

of better life and times in good repair

so that past winter we may see new spring

and spirits lightened all our hearts shall ring

with jubilation at relief of care

each word is chosen that the whole may sing

so that past winter we may see new spring

through all the tangled forest of the text

it is no wonder that we are so vexed

on the occasion of a sharp critique

delivered in plain words only the meek

affect to listen though they are perplexed

since they have no real sense of what comes next

and no desire to let their hurt minds speak

while up above the hunter is alert

to every nuance of the changing breeze

eager to know what comes in scent or sight

since that one thing may help or may yet hurt

but either way must fall before it flees

and be dragged out into the open light

the pulse of nature moving in full heat

and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

nothing is clear all eyesight is quite blurred

the trip is over none will come to greet

you make your vision plain in every word

since on your tongue all truth has been conferred

but this hard fact we're made of bone and meat

and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

proclaiming season's changes have recurred

but time is motion every year more fleet

you make your vision plain in every word

including those that we have not yet heard

break out of silence still our peace is sweet

and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

to wake the morning and to cry absurd

notes of redemption for each empty street

you make your vision plain in every word

and yet we strain for sight of the right bird

blasts out the silence and makes all take stock

for in the morning we face one last doom

it was but yesterday we saw the bloom

pallid yet vibrant not a thing to mock

the wind traps each in their own tiny room

on this dark day when the only perfume

is bitter scent of ashes our knees lock

for in the morning we face one last doom

with no sun rising to relieve the gloom

nor to bring warmth to the hard barren rock

the wind traps each in their own tiny room

for hearts to harden and for minds to fume

while each lost traveller waits on the knock

for in the morning we face one last doom

the golden cradle will serve for a tomb

to learn that fact will not come as a shock

the wind traps each in their own tiny room

for in the morning we face one last doom

where moving image still seems full and bright

though many hopes have faded into night

and all is strange now under a new sky

and other stars still hearts demand to fly

into the realms of true and honest light

where none will question when we reach the height

nor will each word be stifled by the lie

we ask the dragon for one drop of blood

to change the order of things now well known

into fresh truths and we restring the lyre

to have our songs resound above the mud

into that air where one bird soars alone

reaching towards the source of light and fire