She handed me a Rose
For this ageless vision
For this journey wanted by all
But experienced by few
we were bravely starting over together
kissing the past
But massaging the future
The sky turns gray
Awaiting my death
Like buzzards over a newly dropped carcass
So I must hurry to the goodness
To the warm, fruitful sounds
To the good things that CAN happen to good people
If they wait or live long enough.