The Ones Who Waited

Either by hearth or by brew

As anyone can never tell you about their jigs

Chances are he isn't one of the very few

Myrtle and pine and dew and rain

All flock the same as the ages and the days

Long shall our words die into infinity

And so shall the step, the sweat, the cane

Out of the dust does an oasis bloom

Out of blood does a body become a tomb

And I point to those who so happily laugh

I ask them then where has the time passed?

Of colors and might and a willingness to fight

The rapists of life write the book of write and wrong

Unbeknownst to them the truth

That a man has a heart too small to be strong