No two people
ever conceived by God
could possibly be more alike than us

We live our lives in perpetual hope
of Country Time Lemonade commercials
and old reruns of “Leave it to ******”

We hope that, around the next bend
on a dusty, sun streaked road
we will find our Mayberry

That place where old men
weighing down sagging porches
speak in parable of better times

That place where young mothers
perpetually in their Sunday best
push strollers edged in brick-a-brack

That place where little boys
have impossibly grass stained knees
at the edge of muddy fishing holes

That place where little girls
pick Black-Eyed Susan's in verdant fields
and play at getting married while the little boys flee in terror

That place where dapper fathers
mow lawns in their shirtsleeves
and tip their pipes to one another in the falling afternoon sun

Together, we dream of this place;
this ideal;
this America.

Together we dream and, together, we continue
down that old dirt road;
hoping to find Mayberry
just around the next bend.

You will never hear
the beating of my heart.
You will never know.
You will never feel
the touch of my lips.
You will never know.
You will never hear
the voice of my love.
You will never know.
You will never accept
the warmth of my touch.
You will never know.
You will never see me
in the light of new morning.
You will never know.
You will never see
the brilliance of my smile.
You will never know.
You will never hold
the lightness of my hand.
You will never know.
You will never touch
the softness of my body.
You will never know.
You will never hear
the keening of my laugh.
You will never know.
You will never know
the joy of my devotion.
You will never know.

If you were to see me in candlelight
when the moon is down,
perhaps then you would see
the love that lights my eyes

If you were to see me in darkness
through the depths of blackest night,
perhaps then you would see
the love that breaks my heart

If you were to see me at daybreak
through eyes red rimmed with tears,
perhaps then you would know
how tender love could be

But you see me alone through your eyes
so blinded by pain of old
perhaps you will never know
the love that waits for you here

How many could say,
in the end,
that they have held pure joy in their hearts

How many could say,
in that final hour,
they they have truly loved

I have known joy and
I have felt love

What more is there to say?

Perhaps it's only with childs' eyes
That we could see the fireflies

On that lovely Fourth of July
Perched between the earth and sky

In that ancient, gnarly tree
There was only you and only me

And in the forest, all around,
Nothing but the nighttime sounds

The peepers peeping by the creek
A gentle breeze, so soft, so meek

The moonglow soft upon your face
Full of wonder, full of grace

The perfect end to the perfect day
Covered in dirt, horse hair and hay

I never will forget that night
Or our heaven sent delight

And I'll never forget the fireflies
On that lovely Fourth of July

And her heart ceased beating
at the mere suggestion of him
Her breath grew quick and short

The thought of him rolled through her
like the thunder that crashed
like the rain that poured

And she wondered how he could not hear her cries
all those miles away