and the waters singing shall wet the stage on which we tread on which we lately tread there on storied pebbles fresh immersed
washed on riverbed washed clean on riverbed
reflecting slippery time whose yellowed age when done and said when all done and said makes its exit finally offstage
no curtain call no scene change no props to rearrange no sounds at all
save rippled water coruscating over shallow stones and new laid bones burbling their sweetest tones to gently soothe our hapless quicklimed yearning
its flowing thread intently binds our weak and helpless rage now stranded dry – such parched and brittle learning entirely unrehearsed
its calm and flowing thread intently weaves a new and endless age entirely sans script unrehearsed
when we are dead
we all are singing unversed songs of pebble-washed time which will become immersed one unsuspecting day in lime or clay over which will run the ever running stream smoothing out the pain smoothing forever the awful pain
singing softly of a pebbled dream
our new year carol strains the air in sad lament as the melody of one so fair is spent