BEFORE he knew what he now knows,
When life only dealt soft, intermittent blows,
When the mornings were bright and the days gay,
When the fields were alive and he often came out to play,
The days when the wind had rythm and the sun sang along.
Before he knew what he now knows,
The night’s cloud was a perfect cover,
For good mischief and deep slumber,
When the fields were alive with the crickets of summer,
The nights when the wind had rythm and the moon sang along.
And then he came to know what he now knows,
Life dealt hard, unrelenting blows,
The mornings were grey and the days overcast,
The fields were barren and the wind and sun were harsh.
Now he knows what he now knows.
The night’s cloud is still a perfect cover; it mirrors his soul,
The crickets were silent or perhaps dead,
The wind and the moon softly sang a dirge.
The poetry of the pair got to his ears, he loved the song so, they brought his eyes to tears,
In the dark he laid, devoid of slumber,
Thinking troubled thoughts, of his own murder.
Maybe if he passed with the night, the moon would sing for him, a soft, beautiful dirge…
And then he fell asleep.