so we are clear that in the winter sun
beneath the cloudless sky when all is cold
though all is bright our hearts are not consoled
by any knowledge the good times are done
while an uncertain epoch has begun
when the best folk are not doomed to be old
when crab his kingdom has now been foretold
so that the countdown clock is on its run
we seldom grieve the brightness of the day
until we see the stars in the night sky
and then declare the sunlight was too brief
for all we had to do or had to say
yet know the while that our words are a lie
to cover up a monumental grief