A time will come for wants and needs
for things we thought by summer trees
when things were odd,but odd to us
is strange and changed and disarranged
the thought of right was surely wrong
yet wrong right now can still belong
and time it still falls from the face
where hands they glide by gentle pace
concealed by a sneer that waits
a centaur, it minds the gates
with children's teeth around his waist
and golden locks down by his face
return once more while still awake
the gray, the old, with ernest hate
to strip the bloom from garden napes
and prune the vines in oddly shapes
to laugh, to cry, to sing once more
and soak in waters they once adored