no grieving then but seize the darting joys
that pass like summer birds above the lake
enjoy the time and all the things you make

ignore the pain avoid the childish noise
see how the breezes still the reeds do shake
no grieving then but seize the darting joys

before they pass on to new girls and boys
as life requires since every reed must break
eternity's the dream that we mistake
no grieving then but seize the darting joys

the dark disaster broken by harsh light
patter of voices sound of running feet
these lives that ended they were not so sweet
that does not matter for we had no right
to trample these brief hopes in the hot night
ignoring the short cry of mi nu dweet
the blotless orders always seem so neat
not so the blood and ordure in our sight
the noble man no brute can't bear the blame
see how the sorrow weighs upon his face
adding it seems another dozen years
we will not think of yet another name
the one whose presence we can't seem to trace
who sums up all our terrors and our fears

we take the signs of spring and call them grand
each knows they'll weep some day to see them pass
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

words tell us little but they have to stand
for all our knowledge of the wind on grass
we take the signs of spring and call them grand

since each bright sigil comes at sun's command
and all together form a joyous mass
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

reflection of the heart sprung from the land
for one short season then they're gone alas
we take the signs of spring and call them grand

inadequate the words so brief and bland
lacking in strength and grace like so much gas
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

need so much more for sentiments they fanned
their colours cannot stay within the glass
we take the signs of spring and call them grand
immortal symbols set by mortal hand

there's no occasion to admit defeat
beneath an empty sky of callous blue
in this proud season when we must renew
so many hopes our senses cannot treat
these many messages of the hard street
as what they are and the time's overdue
for easy answers so the young must rue
what they can't know and old ones lose the beat
we change the era as we change our socks
in solemn mode but yet with little thought
of any deeper meaning in the act
one moment free the next cast on the rocks
with every motion seeming overwrought
our species lost now between truth and fact

he saplings in the yard are in first leaf

their spring has now begun but it is late

maples they are and ruddy in relief



we ask the world for hope and no mischief

to strike us as we come out through the gate

the saplings in the yard are in first leaf



the pleasant season but we know it's brief

yet we are forced each year to a long wait

maples they are and ruddy in relief



time strikes us now as a harsh nasty thief

we look in pain at every passing date

the saplings in the yard are in first leaf



but life's revival brings no great relief

we're in the season of pain and debate

maples they are and ruddy in relief



all they can do now is recall hard grief

not reconcile us to eventual fate

the saplings in the yard are in first leaf

maples they are and ruddy in relief

no one who feels the changing seasons' bite
can be assured that growth is purely good
since each tall tree each ancient of the wood
that waits there leafless through the winter night
with chilly taproot is in the same plight
as you might be and has for long withstood
the final pain in ways you wish you could
but it wont matter there'll be a last rite
spring is too short and one day sap won't rise
to renew bud and energise new leaf
but for the moment all we have is time
and universes open to our eyes
the products none of them of our belief
while every limb towards the sun must climb

hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed
those eager plantings of last summer's heat
they are the voices of our dearest dead

we have not asked just what the blossoms said
nor listened long to the black loamy beat
hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed

have no regret nor signal any dread
their meaning is not evil it is sweet
they are the voices of our dearest dead

returning to us in the garden spread
in sudden colour in the light complete
hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed

each shocking signal sent right to the head
and heart that with old sorrow is replete
these are the voices of our dearest dead

gone now but leaving us with souls full fed
since life refuses to accept defeat
hyacinths and daffs in the flowerbed
they are the voices of our dearest dead