Maybe I'm a horseshoe
                    that's hanging on the wall.
Not the brightest leaf,
                          just the first one to fall.
I didn't even notice
         when my dreams grew so small.
And I can't do it again.

I've lost all the books
                  I had when I was just a kid.
It's not that I don't care -
                                it's that I never did.
Maybe I never looked
                      where my childhood hid.
And I can't do it again.

I fell asleep on Broadway
                              and I woke up alone.
Anywhere I lay my head,
                       I always dream of home.
My past is writ on paper
           but my heart is carved in stone.
And I can't do it again.

I went to the Moon
          but my friends went to the stars.
I built myself a rocket,
                           but I only got to Mars.
Now I've made some mistakes
                        and I still bear the scars.
And I can't do it again.

My father told me,
                              when I was only ten,
"You can be the rose
             that grows in Brennan's Glen".
But I became the briar
                       in a world of better men.
I can't do it again.

Sleeping in the conifers,
I stumbled on a rose.
Since trodden only yesterday,
Now carefully she grows.
Outstanding, still, the lilies in
The garden she forgoes.

I offered her my hand and knelt
To mend the earth and stone.
But gardener she needed none.
No meal. No collarbone.
And so I sang a quiet song,
And pat back down the loam.

O Spring when you, by skillful hand,
Affirm what I opined,
Awake me in the forest land,
That blushing rose to find.
By day I'll search the cedars and
By night the yews, the pines.