Chapel Hill, NC
Troubled clouds huddle in a crowded sky
A sparrow utters sparse reply
To the falling leaves, which gather as they rest
On the grass.
Things pass, like water floating in the stream.
Like forgotten faces, which once did seem
To be all alone, but now travel in between
It wonít be long before the sun has set,
Before the bearded bards have met
For the last time, and I havenít found just yet
So for now Iíll try to understand
The turning of the hand
Of the clock, sitting beside your door.
Remembering the last
time we met,
You had a certain air- a fallen angel
With accumulated debt.
Donít expect me to recognize your face
If you decide to come walking up to my door
I once knew you, long before
I met myself.
Now things have changed,
My slave is not yours anymore;
Now youíre more likely to find me
Sleeping upon the floor.
How do you think you can help
When you donít even know yourself?
Your tongue cannot taste the air that you breathe.
Beware, for itís going away,
And now I must be on my way,
For there are more urgent things to say-
To people more willing to listen.
c. 2000 DEM