If we were young men,

  if we were strong

If we had fresh words,

  to add to our song

If we were soldiers,

  with war in our veins

If we were poets,

  our voices reclaimed

If we were lovers,

  of women that cried

If we went wandering,

  our hearts reapplied

If we were statesmen,

  the world in our grasp

If we were sailors,

  the wind at our backs

If we were farmers,

  with meadows so green

If we were actors,

  on stages supreme

If we were hunters,

  new wolf on the prowl

If we were dreamers,

  all wishes allowed

If we were young men,

  still facing the sun

But alas, we are old

—and darkness has come



(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2016)