no reason for your heart to get the joke
we took the road and followed every twist
found villages that  time seemed to have missed
and watched the sun come out from autumn's cloak
into a world we wanted to evoke
for younger selves but that could not exist
where light and warmth burnt off the silly mist
and foolish wishes turned into thin smoke
smile now at folly and give measured praise
for what must be and grant the purpose set
that we must give a lead to urgent youth
who wish to set the turning world ablaze
as we did once before we learnt regret
and found our tiny corner of the truth

leaves start to fall they're mango-red and dry
but seem like scattered tears in the grey dawn
when i have got the paper from the lawn
and sought the new day's fortune in the sky
with hope the auguries will not now lie
while those who sleep behind curtains still drawn
miss happy sight of trotting deer and fawn
for all the world like neighbours passing by
now this is change and magic in its way
which multiplied becomes the world's own form
and contains us such moments we retain
in deepest memory against the day
of dearth and sorrow in the heart of storm
when we are lashed by coldest wind and rain

we chose at last the path out of deep night
through tangled vines and withes into clean air
nothing we gained came to us just by right

what we'd been told was that the facts would bite
each normal mind and send us to despair
we chose at last the path out of deep night

not with relief but knowing that a fight
would have to come and that no one would care
nothing we gained came to us just by right

instead we seemed the victims of some spite
from distant past inheritors of fear
we chose at last the path out of deep night

although each thought that hope was truly slight
the only thing we had to do was dare
nothing we gained came to us just by right

we were the folk throughout bereft of light
who never thought the process could be fair
we chose at last the path out of deep night
nothing we gained came to us just by right

not given much to metaphor as fact
the student struggles to relate her tale
each sentence on its own will sag or fail
the effort turns out bloated not compact
her model is the sermon and the tract
and writing comes to her like time in gaol
the style is cold the images are stale
and the whole enterprise with pain is packed
the reader wants so much to go outside
and take his whirling thoughts for a long walk
but finishing the job is all his pride
so from the horrid task he dare not balk
no leave nor yet excuse he has to plead
so the next essay he picks up to read

some choose some wait but heroes seldom laugh
at life or fate that's for  the braver fool
who enters action with a certain cool
and finishes the final paragraph
not in the weeds and out beyond the chaff
like any villain we who've been to school
refuse to smile obedient to that rule
established on the citizens' behalf
which choices made permit you to depart
towards new worlds where other pains await
not eager now as you were at the start
but better studied in the ways of fate
yours is the hand but not the means to guide
the angry heart away from paths of pride

to travel takes us back to where we start
all journeys have good learning as their end
but no one can go further than their heart

we seek a place from which pain must depart
leaving us healthier and with a friend
to travel takes us back to where we start

where all our bags are piled upon the cart
yet we can see those folk who will not bend
but no one can go further than their heart

so we have gone unto a place apart
to understand but not to reprehend
to travel takes us back to where we start

into the torment that must make us smart
beyond the certain hope which we defend
but no one can go further than their heart

therefore we master the creative art
that teaches us the ways in which to blend
to travel takes us back to where we start
but no one can go further than their heart

the message failed it was not sent

our golden gospel dies unheard

another paradise deferred



on other missions we are bent

for stranger purposes conferred

the message failed it was not sent



to where we wanted where we meant

the sign to go each silver word

fell into silence was deterred

the message failed it was not sent

those who have measured the true depths of hate
are never guided by the maps we know
nor by the compass or the starry show
at height of darkness that is not their fate
on the long journey for they won’t debate
the terrors or the pains there is no blow
so hard it will detain them the great flow
of history inspires them not to wait
there’s a reminder that we learn the ways
when we are children and the early signs
of wisdom we dismiss as so much guff
yet we return when we’ve fulfilled the days
of hardest learning and worked in the mines
discovering at last we’re not so tough

missing the answer means that when the true
vision of justice fills this hungry mind
it is not understood i have turned blind
to what is obvious not known the due
reception of the gifts of midday blue
warm and attractive nothing left behind
to be cleaned up by the unfailing kind
while i accept the price for what is due
time makes no changes on its very own
except in the bland lies that old folk tell
to calm the foolish on their downward run
instead they  seek to gnaw upon cold stone
while listening for the distant warning bell
and for the sound of the last urgent gun

go up the rise and look down on the sea
ten miles away the moon is setting now
this is a moment which will long allow
warm recollection both of bird and tree
there's nothing here right now would disagree
that time is perfect but we can't endow
life and eternity instead the plough
pushes it under where we cannot see
lost to us all and so left far behind
are all those things only half understood
but not then wanted since the childish voice
is not the speaker for the full-grown mind
nor can we tell yet what is truly good
when we are forced to make a final choice

sounds matter but true meaning's in the eye
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

there is no magic that can outpace wit
nor any spell to outdo normal pluck
still in the end we all are in the ****

you might expect things would ease up a bit
but what you find is that your feet are stuck
there is no magic that can outpace wit

but not a single line of yours will hit
just where you want so you are out of luck
still in the end we all are in the ****

not one of us is ever quite legit
as all our best hopes end up in the muck
there is no magic that can outpace wit

we get a win our thoughts begin to flit
towards good chance if things don't go amuck
still in the end we all are in the ****

no matter what we do despite our grit
the laws of nature just don't give a ****
there is no magic that can outpace wit
still in the end we all are in the ****

edge cases are the ones we have to test
the bounds of who and how we are to know
not truly purpose but beneath it flow
with reason and direction to invest
both mind and fortune as at once possessed
before we're dragged down by the undertow
no hope of rescue since our hero's slow
while time is real and out here uncompressed
we need our little lies or so it seems
just to make sense of all the complex tales
read every morning on electric air
as we awake from satisfying dreams
not truly certain that we know what fails
nor why the trees are all now dry and bare

where no man argues and no woman fights
for good or evil we have reached an end
of human battles and the stars portend
no better indications as the nights
close in we note their distant blinking lights
as symbols we might faintly comprehend
when we are whole but what the worlds intend
is not a matter that we have to rights
the argument of workers in the day
or farmers when the wind upsets the trees
is much the same as when we all were young
to bring about the work without delay
ignore the rain and not yield to the breeze
since a strong back outdoes a silver tongue

no bounds to honour yet the unjust lie
faster than lightning reaches for each throat
enforcing silence there's a bitter note
we can detect even when on the fly
a universe of difference going by
while on one side are those eager to gloat
over the losers in the daily vote
our only option here seems rather dry
what has been paid does not in full restore
the world we had but what we tell each child
will matter in the end since their delight
in the large world will become so much more
absorb the truth and gather in the wild
on that fine day when their strong hearts take flight

each stalks the other on the bitter edge
of hill and forest where the winter sun
sheds little warmth but hope enough to run
into dark trees just where the young birds fledge
right past the glades where the spring lovers pledge
up to the hills now when the hunt is done
the rest will know just what reward is won
and what has died upon the mountain ledge
there is a truth beyond all human gain
that we extract from every sacrifice
without regard to what each must endure
just to achieve it both the thrill and pain
that are the fullest payment of the price
and for the which there is no certain cure

no choice but midnight left and this is hard
to take when day was joyous and so kind
that we were filled with blessings of good mind
but now few stars and every way is barred
vision is blurred and all the ground is charred
by wildest fire we have been left behind
by some harsh fate in this land of the blind
where all things good have been cut up and marred
there must be wisdom left for each to trace
the proper path to decent human sight
where everyone is worthy of their face
and every action leads each to the right
this is the hope to which we all must hold
that none can purchase though it lead to gold

no matter what the peak arcs all descend
unto the earth from which they first arose
that's the most certain the most profound trend
even for one who best withstands the blows
of evil fortune or of cruel fate
falls to despair then rises to high state
no epoch should be measured by one rule
yet we insist that far beyond the cool
and shaded halls where measure has its sway
all things are governed by a simple tool
so each becomes the hero of their day

just past its height the moment seems to bend
with all the weight of ages that could close
cold time's long judgment that will never mend
either warm eyes or the dull hearts that froze
from lack of feeling or the heavy freight
of knowledge that would rise and not abate
from the bright ocean to the chiefly stool
while other wisdoms might in time unspool
we were not shown the truth but in one way
which was to lead us all back into school
so each becomes the hero of their day

there's nothing more on which we must depend
between the morning and the next repose
when all the hours will with clean music blend
so that our thoughts will come out sweeter prose
all of our motion take a smoother gait
while vision leave  us with no dark to hate
returning light finds each beside a pool
bright with our hopes and in the morning cool
though being clear and apt enough for play
we can be certain that none is a fool
so each becomes the hero of their day

we have been warned against the last misrule
of ancient dodderers sunk in their drool
their grimaces the doltish things they say
enough to know we're past this basic school
so each becomes the hero of their day

where there's no echo from the outer range
of what was said before we turned for home
about the meanings both of choice and change
and what it means when we begin to roam
beyond the bounds of our accepted world
to those domains now hidden in the dark
where our free banners may at last unfurled
be flown above our heads as the great mark
of where we stand and what we mean to hold
upon the heights the point of what we do
when we have moved from warmth into the cold
and made our old place into something new
the truth of this is said without alarm
but your reply is what must give it charm

we do not get the choice to grow or fade
since each of us is placed just where we ought
to find the truth of all the things we're taught
which is much more that what life must abrade
with its rough edges we are ever frayed
broken and blinded knowing that we fought
both hard and well but losing were caught
in the old trap and sent back to the shade
so much to tell about where we were cast
the clawing upwards that's another fight
though none will listen to the loser's tale
nor should they we recall the faded past
while today's children look towards the light
and have no patience with the ones who fail

this is the year when each week brings more pain
we dread to hear the news since it must shock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

we heard your cry and knew it was in vain
no one would come not even to take stock
this is the year when each week brings more pain

there is no balance there's no even strain
the boat will sink after it leaves the dock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

we see the message and it is quite plain
the fates have gathered and they seem to mock
this is the year when each week brings more pain

the victim's due is to be killed again
at a set time as measured by the clock
there's death instead of healing in the rain

and never shelter that we could attain
since every hope we have turns out a crock
this is the year when each week brings more pain
there's death instead of healing in the rain

no matter that the cap's been set askew

there is no better story we could tell

about the way our honest vision grew

out of cold pain to fill the broken shell

healing the ill that you could not dispel

for all your efforts since there was no way

to break the walls or give the soul full play

we reach the bounds and have no better terms

than these old worn words no more than cliché

you might as well give up and feed the worms



we watch as grey has come to rule the blue

there's nothing here against which to rebel

just the old order just the normal due

course of the world which we cannot compel

to alter for our will there is no spell

that folk of magic could use to allay

these ordinary fears which still betray

just what we are old time alone confirms

that it can do its will and have its say

you might as well give up and feed the worms



after the rain we hope to see the new

growth that will rise the blossoms that will swell

once more in the bright garden to show true

that all things in the end shall come out well

so that on painful matters we won't dwell

and not look at the fossils under clay

the ancient dead in their solid array

since he who looks is also he who squirms

at thought of what lies just beyond decay

you might as well give up and feed the worms



prince your approach is all the gift we pray

knowing how well we count on what you say

beneath your wisdom are the least of germs

unable to resist the force of day

you might as well give up and feed the worms

emerging from the freighted dark no thought
but that the sky be clear and hands be filled
with all the needful that your warm hearts willed
when in good daylight the first words were caught
by eager listeners who had been taught
that not all prizes went to those best drilled
in the arcana of the freshly-killed
rather to ones who would account for naught
there is a victory that no one regrets
up in the hills when all the gifts are due
then hunters call and do not comprehend
the plainer meanings and the open sets
though when we have been silenced and review
our final forces we find there’s no end

the fraction of the truth that now remains
within the bounds of what we are to speak
is current language words sodden and weak
lacking in power nothing now explains
the meaning of the anguish and the pains
that each had taken before these grey bleak
crowds of oppression forbade us to seek
the honest answers upon hills or plains
a light at noon would show no honest folk
in any corner of a world grown wild
with deepest passion of forgotten art
needing desire and raging for the yoke
to be laid on each grown person a child
once more but coals of hope burn in each heart

in the deep silence when the heavy snow
had closed the ways and frozen every road
each of us certain that no river flowed
and turning inwards for the gentle glow
of  home and hope that love will soon bestow
on all of those who have found out the code
of normal joy there's no more human mode
for us to find nor for the heart to know
yet as the dark descends on the cold city
we're held together by another light
clearer and kinder than we might deserve
safe in a time we know for rough and gritty
and made secure by truth instead of might
we find the gold around the final curve

there is some magic in the changing sound
of music in the modulated touch
over the distance we have gained so much
crossing great waters at a single bound
while all the pains of the old hurt were drowned
and honour met  just one step past the clutch
of oldest terrors we learn truth is such
a mighty gift yet one we may expound
our hope for progress turns right back to shame
when out of darkness we find naught but force
to hold us back and keep us from our right
when what is needed is but one bright flame
to serve as guide to set us back on course
reminding hearts that not all is in night

here is the test of what we want to know
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

brash thunder in the dark is low and deep
it bids us rest and dream of milky light
of other places where with fresher sight
the follies of the seasons slower creep
may well be judged by those who always keep
a weather eye for things to come out right
as safe from mortal horror that's the plight
of one who knows just what hides down in sleep
there's better clarity in the grey dawn
a different heat another sort of life
to be confronted choices to be met
one fearful terrapin seen on the lawn
draws in its head for fear of hurt or strife
but then goes on with no thought or regret

you think we missed the road when we did not

make the right turn and soon were in the corn

a point of loss but she was not forsworn



and got us out of there to the right spot

no loss of time nor yet reason for scorn

you think we missed the road when we did not



our guide had things to say and just forgot

the proper way you know her heart was torn

but still we passed right by where she was born

you think we missed the road when we did not

each walks away from the last awful wreck
convinced that they at least were not at fault
in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

one had been certain but now what the heck
the blame is placed on *** or single malt
each walks away from the last awful wreck

a little more afraid daring to check
for signs of trauma not wanting to halt
in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

but silent refusing to note the beck
of anyone around in fear of assault
each walks away from the last awful wreck

stiffly uncertainly just like a mech
robotic being we would not exalt
in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

what's visible from up here on the deck
are shaken folk not worthy of their salt
each walks away from the last awful wreck
in pain from foot right up to shaking neck

when after hard night’s sleep you wake to shock
of world everted by some horrid act
that frightens into childhood though the fact
is not so dangerous as to unlock
those charging monsters that good adults block
assuring you that though we've been attacked
the enemy will suffer the impact
and we will be as stalwart as the rock
the sounds of battle will not this day reach
our tender ears the voices urge stay calm
just go about your life and do your duty
yet they are silent those who ought to teach
the urgent lesson that there is no balm
to ease the pain and no way back to beauty

we find that choices now have all turned hard
but may not leave this hot and ****** field
there's no way forward and return is barred

all faces that were fresh are old and marred
but minds are focused and all hearts are steeled
we find that choices now have all turned hard

yet cannot give the past our fond regard
for what was warm and free is now congealed
there's no way forward and return is barred

to those who are obliged to stand on guard
awaiting a strong word to be revealed
we find that choices now have all turned hard

our praises won't be sung by any bard
at least our fate will not be long concealed
there's no way forward and return is barred

no option then but play the final card
take up our stand and show we will not yield
we find that choices now have all turned hard
there's no way forward and return is barred

there's little room for laughter nor for wit
in a beige room with a good downtown view
learning that not all good comes with the new
and breathing in the scents of bile and ****
you learn then all  the signals of hard grit
but night and day someone must turn the *****
the pain will come as much as you are due
and you must sleep now for a little bit
love is sustained upon a sea of tears
though brotherhood itself may seem to fail
in curtest questions still you can draw breath
surprise yourself that you withstood your fears
and are arrived to laugh about this tale
since by a hair you walked away from death

to speak of valour is no great mistake
when each of us confronts the howling gale
those who are ready when the sandbags fail
know what is meant when city turns to lake
each of them is that moment wide awake
while in their corners all the cowards quail
left with no benefit save their own stale      
as even stoutest bodies bend and shake
words that are spoken in the autumn sun
lose all their purchase during winter's turn
but are the currency of many schools
repenting of their choices no one's done
before they see their youthful wishes burn
and know themselves for ordinary fools

a moment's vision just a little nudge
of seeing what the normal eye can't see
in moving time just so we might agree
on one fast rule but no you will not budge
from  that position nor will you begrudge
what we assume is given us for free
to stay or go just so each has to be
the honest broker and the silent judge
this course of pain is now so well begun
you take the measure and devise a trap
knowing that soon the true moment will come
since each desire has in us one swift run
a journey noted well upon the map
and valued now at a gigantic sum

fallen from glory the world now turns drab
so easily a single dullish cloud
before the sun and all brightness is cowed
without resistance we can never grab
the moment back it's cast upon the slab
and we are from all justice disendowed
who were not long ago happy and proud
but now have come to the realm of the crab
the world is many things other than fair
since what we have we always have to earn
on terms that change each day and are not right
when most we want the best of things to dare
but never mind all that is good must burn
and from the fire we gain a better light

you think the boundaries are all the same

imbued with meaning by the hand of time

not records of some old forgotten crime

but guarantees the world is safe and tame

that there are limits set to hate and flame

so we keep back the fury and the grime

of human nature and wall in the slime

of all our hatred that is the full game

now miracles come extra that's the rule

you must expect as we deploy each troop

of brazen rescuers who'll save the day

in proper form and manage to stay cool

keep things in order and then all regroup

off to one side while others come to play

on a cool morning we may see the dew
settled on grass as butterflies flit by
in mild september still the world is new

seasons must change and time will have her due
others will have their honest reasons why
on a cool morning we may see the dew

through the back window this calm sunday view
of houses road and the late summer sky
in mild september still the world is new

when we are happy and our pains are few
the task today is to rejoice not cry
on a cool morning we may see the dew

before it burns off while the sky's still blue
this moment fits so neatly in the eye
in mild september still the world is new

we taste once more the sweetness of the brew
knowing the truths that life may yet supply
on a cool morning we may see the dew
in mild september still the world is new

your chances come and go like a spring breeze
above the tulips maples still are bare
but all the city seems to be aware
that something's brewing in the mysteries
nature may hide some trick in her chemise
that the best gardener would not think she'd dare
and then send signals out in simplest clear
when we most think to sit and take our ease
on edge of spring we wait as on each night
the stars reveal another sort of chance
and we are given leave to ask for rest
not knowing yet what we may get as right
nor what our steps are in the coming dance
but hoping that each change is for the best

the wind traps each in their own tiny room
blasts out the silence and makes all take stock
for in the morning we face one last doom

it was but yesterday we saw the bloom
pallid yet vibrant not a thing to mock
the wind traps each in their own tiny room

on this dark day when the only perfume
is bitter scent of ashes our knees lock
for in the morning we face one last doom

with no sun rising to relieve the gloom
nor to bring warmth to the hard barren rock
the wind traps each in their own tiny room

for hearts to harden and for minds to fume
while each lost traveller waits on the knock
for in the morning we face one last doom

the golden cradle will serve for a tomb
to learn that fact will not come as a shock
the wind traps each in their own tiny room
for in the morning we face one last doom

we  fear to echo what the sunlight speaks
in voices that cannot be raised too loud
for fear we might stand out within the crowd
or be admonished as monsters or freaks
so we are silent do not strain our breeks
in the assurance we will not be proud
of course or carriage nothing is allowed
to harm the tenor of our days and weeks
for normal passage this might be enough
but more is needed when we have to find
the kind of courage that you only need
when life has taken all your other stuff
and you’ve been drive mad as well as blind
yet have a chance for one more human deed

we looked on open water for a week
a warm green sea true eater of the sun
great arm of ocean not river or creek

this was our respite from a world made bleak
by constant duty service on the run
we looked on open water for a week

in hope of healing certain the unique
sense of the name would give us what we'd won
great arm of ocean not river or creek

immensity of peace that we could seek
as fullest respite when each day was done
we looked on open water for a week

with smiling faces that forbade critique
of any statement that would overrun
great arm of ocean not river or creek

where we end moving easily and sleek
towards the sunset knowing it was fun
we looked on open water for a week
great arm of ocean not river or creek

the voices that are loudest in the dark
need not be those on which we must depend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

for which new voyage when we first embark
there's no clear meaning that we could intend
the voices which are loudest in the dark

are not the ones we first set out to mark
on whose loud booming our thoughts would perpend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

that is the task of scholar priest and clerk
here now to master each unworldly trend
the voices that are loudest in the dark

will not be those who cannot just remark
on ordinary passage they must bend
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

allow the motion to ignite a spark
of true humanity before the end
the voices that are loudest in the dark
call on a hope that's ample and not stark

we catch the ***** at night on the black road
just shovel them into the waiting bag
until the sweat pools and your spirits flag

above the stars signal in arcane code
while you wipe down with an old smelly rag
we catch the ***** at night on the black road

that leads us back to where the waters flowed
past all the places where we let hope sag
back into swamp where memories might nag
we catch the ***** at night on the black road

no echo here but silence tightly wound
upon the spindle of the rising year
has its effect on this our unburnt ground
where moths and spider in their turn appear
in pallid sheen with shadows most austere
our voices falter we do not belong
in place or time when memories are strong

ears are alert for the first human sound
for that one thing that we might hold most dear
explaining why the quiet is so profound
and why each heart must feel the touch of fear
before new day but nothing will come clear
the birds are sleeping this night will last long
cold hours must pass before we hear their song

there's no one present to teach or expound
those complex riddles about which we care
such folk of comfort are never around
when there's a nasty chill upon the air
or complications in the great affair
they simply vanish still if we prolong
our patient waiting dawn will strike the gong

some proper answer remains to be found
the process seeming almost cavalier
it being grasped and purposed on rebound
seeming to be the waste of a career
but those who cannot feel have yet to hear
the truth of where they are and we belong
in proper place to right all that went wrong

no one this day shall say they stood aloof
when the new rose first came into fresh flower
and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

we would have faced a certain harsh reproof
no long before but all changed in an hour
no one this day shall say they stood aloof

nor that the entire fabric warp and woof
had stayed the same new blossom in each bower
and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

for fear of learning just how great the goof
would harm the doer dread would them devour
no one this day shall say they stood aloof

the acts are real we see that there's no spoof
of change or meaning the old world we scour
and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

today we saw the crowds from every roof
acclaim as honour took the seat of power
no one this day shall say they stood aloof
and none dared crush the bloom beneath a hoof

truth comes in the gaze of eye and ear
and is released in ways that we find best
in simple language nothing can be expressed
but in a form and fashion that is dear
to ordinary hearts now we adhere
in principle and practice to the test
of frailty in all that is confessed
by guardians who will not succumb to fear
duty requires action as well as speech
from those told off to watch the border wall
for signs of trouble coming with the spring
but courage makes us all extend our reach
makes us imagine ourselves ten feet tall
and gives our hearts and voices cause to sing

in the beginning the true word was fear
of both the sun and the restraining night
of lack of motion and of urgent flight
the rule was terror on earth and in air
so all would tremble and not one would dare
give voice to fervour  truth is not so light
upon our shoulders nor is human might
so sorely lacking that all must despair
when we are banded there's an end to shock
while sorrow must retreat before clear hearts
and terrors be forgotten once again
when we reject the foolish as they mock
our hard-won knowledge and our certain arts
of patience that beat wisdom out of pain

observe the future and record the past
that's our plain duty and it is enough
to get us our redemption at long last

we're only part of the supporting cast
whose job it is to murmur words of fluff
observe the future and record the past

while others move about the world so fast
they seem like angels yet we call their bluff
to get us our redemption at long last

our task's not simple though we have been classed
among the lesser folk the job is tough
observe the future and record the past

note who showed fear and who survived the blast
that changed the world write all fear no rebuff
to get us our redemption at long last

though there are horrors we'll not stand aghast
nor yield to silence or fear of the rough
observe the future and record the past
to get us our redemption  at long last

out of the cloud one moment of calm rain
and silver light can overwhelm the sense
we're left with life the journey may commence
our path is known our purpose now made plain
even to fools nothing left to detain
the cautious watcher there's no great defence
we have to make our task is not intense
all is gone past that we have to attain
so now the summing up the verdict clear
on who the losers were and what they lost
paid for in full without a single word
by those who smiled and laughed in the free air
enduring all and knowing what it cost
but still rejoicing in the free absurd