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

we see these blooms that were not there last night

and hearts are gladdened by this joyful sight

such lovely touches a fine day can bring

with the whole world brought into proper swing

nature's true colours turned honestly bright

after soft rain that seemed for once just right

both mind and heart demand to shout and sing

order will pass we know but for this day

we take the kindness as a goodly gift

one all the better since it soon will pass

into oblivion as is still the way

of all those living things which move so swift

from blazing sight to underneath the grass

out in the west so soon we'll hear the drums

aloft in heaven as the earth succumbs

its tender softness under grassy drape

is waiting eager happy mouth agape

certain that summer in its fervour comes

to soothe each rough spot that grim winter numbs

and grant each of us respite and escape

the chains that hold each down are real enough

to warrant our desire for honest ease

and liberation from the cycle's hurt

yet all in common learn how to be tough

from horrid  heat wave to the hardest freeze

we'll make it all the way until the dirt

where what we note of colour size or shape

becomes the means by which honest escape

from what is known and what we can descry

by normal means will happen by and by

for each of us the record on the tape

is not the whole we're not out of the scrape

just when we we think the story has to die

so let the note be sounded once for all

while the conductor smiles at his good task

for we have taken on the cloak of grace

by overcoming each pain of the fall

from mortal height to these shores where we bask

in warmth and joy beyond the cold embrace

 measured in force but not yet in desire

entombed disdain of what we must acquire

on this short trip there's not so far to go

 before the flag comes down on the whole show

and story's done that tune's one for the lyre

unmusical but catchy round the fire

so we must learn before it's time to go

now heroes fail just like the common sort

and no birds cry when they let out last breath

 but mountains soften underneath the rain

 turning far greener with that soft support

in the sure knowledge that like any death

 we will be thankful for an end of pain

with greasy age but never quite can fade

into disuse there's an unspoken trade

that does not need the ruler or the scale

but measures all those things that must avail

to keep us steady when we call for aid

the ones who never come out to parade

but without whom the enterprise would fail

these actions have the qualities of rite

imbued with meaning sanctified by age

yet all the agents seem such normal folk

people who sleep through the short hours of night

would not be caught dead strutting on the stage

but will not bend beneath the whip or yoke

is the clear voice that says the course is set

from west to east and there is none to let

down the lines nor to put the candles out

when storm's upon us rattling hard the spout

so half asleep and too late to regret

the cost of excess calm and price of sweat

we still confront the truth of pain and doubt

less certain that the world to which we'll wake

shall be the one in which we went to sleep

no matter what the colour of the skies

we live to understand the great mistake

to learn about just what we get to keep

and what to make of the long stream of lies

and are persuaded that an angry curse

is just a matter for some plangent verse

or else results from sloppy bad male diction

all our desire is life with little friction

and we can't understand how the converse

happens how all our actions make things worse

just why the happy ending's only fiction

to tell this story would take me too long

so it must be cut short and that's a shame

since all the world is hanging on the tale

still all in all what hurts makes us more strong

and better able soon to win the game

while early victors in the end must fail

nor clarity in morning that is why

we seek for explanations on the fly

in earnest wish for ending of our plight

but nothing comes there is no vivid sight

all's grey and dullness settles on each eye

there's no firm sanity we can espy

the universe seems ordered by mere spite

when we were children we were told that cause

and effect followed by a straight decree

of nature's and the world was really plain

to adult eyes but now we have no laws

to follow and we find we are not free

since those who want to lead us are insane

visible through the february mist

this sign of coming spring won't be dismissed

life makes to us its yearly guarantee

that after darkness comes the jubilee

while all of nature's colours still persist

and will explode the roadsides will be kissed

with  light again all life yearns to be free

in each heart hides a promissory note

from past to future valid for all time

worth all the stories that our folk have told

to be redeemed when we are called to vote

weighed in the balance and cleansed of all grime

for a true substance worth far more than gold