no time to change from what i used to be
but now and when it happens i must leave
not just this place but all that i conceive
to be in tune with senses that agree
in total beauty that we all can see
in that one moment when we cease to grieve
for all our losses that i must believe
will become true for what is the new me
we fall into the silence one by one
who were a certain band and knew our way
in the strong moment of unpolished youth
but there's still light the time is far from done
and there is much to do while it is day
that is my story and it is the truth

what's real and true of all the stuff we learn
throughout each life is given extra sheen
by honest labour it will never burn

the deeper vision that permits a turn
towards an understanding of the seen
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

both in and out of school is the concern
for honest dealing which becomes so keen
by honest labour it will never burn

our hands but lead us rather to discern
the better way by which to intervene
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn

reminds us of the need for what we earn
not just for us but those in the machine
by honest labour it will never burn

the ones who cry and those who only yearn
for what is not and what has never been
what's real and true of all the stuff we learn
by honest labour it will never burn

the maples out in front are now in leaf
they're always late only the top is green
below they've budded with a reddish sheen
but all i know's the sight gives me relief
once more we're past the season of slow grief
and watch as down the street the youngsters preen
in repetition of an ancient scene
knowing the heat of summer won't be brief
what's left inside must still be given voice
to sing of what has been and what must come
that's honest truth the whole and not some part
since what we do is really not our choice
but what we must add to the human sum
out of our knowledge and by gentle art

such easy choices made by those still young
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

words being said in this open debate
frustrate our thought it's not that they are lies
nor traps and gluepots that we might devise
for maximum confusion of the great
and not so clever who would pass the gate
to make themselves seem honest to our eyes
for a short season till they get the prize
and can then smile unburdened by all freight
there is much honour in sticking to fact
in simple truthful measuring of all
that needs be said before the earnest crowd
but yet the ones who think silence is tact
and fail to understand the urgent call
are those with greatest need to hear things loud

there is a corner where light does not reach
even at noontime so we go to hide
away from where the foolish yellers preach

some days we dream of lazing on the beach
and waiting for the changing of the tide
there is a corner where light does not reach

untouched by hardness of unruly speech
where none can urge and no one can deride
away from where the foolish yellers preach

we may be safe from murderer and leech
both from the open blade and from the snide
there is a corner where light does not reach

into the silence where there is no screech
of angry voices seeking to divide
away from where the foolish yellers preach

we may be sure of what belongs to each
and how we find that only out of pride
there is a corner  where light does not reach
away from where the foolish yellers preach

now pink and white to trumpet urgent spring
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