I've hardly started
even at my wintry years
still at the early pages
of life's book -- some tears
there are but fewer fears-

I've never walked away
but looked squarely
at life in the face--

no story of worth
do I have yet
what I've written and done
I'm glad to forget--

no claim can I make
brittle and fragile
are the words I say
I still miss by many a mile

and so I walk my way
to history I couldn't belong
better to leave things to rest
than to sing an empty song.