For solemn hands to hold as I grow frail and old
Wrinkled eyes smiling tiredly back at mine
In their depths I would relive soft tongued mornings
Stormy edges that echoed the heated joining of youth and vigor
I have danced and dallied with the widow maker
With sharp design he’s a real heart breaker
Ticking time tears add salt to each story retold
At my feet to little ears and little eyes that yearn to see
If only for a moment
What it was like to be free