small hand delve into the waters
seeking the grand design
and his place in it
spend your days frugally and thin of heart
to what gain
thous endeared to your fleet foot
handsome pretense loose hope
in the everlasting winter of your indifference

small hand offered meek and tentative
but in the midst of torrential rain
it goes without the reply it so needed
withdrawn slowly as if to speak to the thought
am i so unworthy in your eyes
am i so disdained
is this the end of my days
have the words finally escaped me
never to return

the pretty poet holding his hand
whispers to him across the miles that he need
not feel so alone
she dances in her shower and dreams of him
that tender thought
that hopeful and giving heart from far west
helps him endure
recalls to him that this need not be the end of his road
need not think tomorrows joy is unattainable

pretty poet
he cannot always find the words
sometimes for all he wishes to say
his pen lacks the words
except thank you from the bottom of his heart


reprise:
at last at the end of your days
embrace the offered hand
know that you are the first to tread
that lonely wood