when the keepers of the house tremble,
and the strong men stoop,
when the grinders cease because they are few,
and those looking through the windows grow dim;
when the doors to the street are closed and the sound of grinding fades;
when men rise up at the sound of birds,
when men are afraid of heights
and of dangers in the streets;
when the almond tree blossoms
and the grasshopper drags himself along and desire no longer is stirred.
but all their songs grow faint;
Then man goes to his eternal home and mourners go about the streets. ~ Ecclesiastes 12:3-5 (NIV)
Hurdler,
colonel, engineer, captain of the band. Baritone, tinner,
mayor, leader —
you could do everything
but hula-hoop and fix my Timex. Now muddled of mind, breathless, a stranger
in your own head,
you plan the ordinary, relearn the routine.
The chasm gapes. Daddy, can I be the child again?
Thank you God for an eternal home where mourners know the pain is gone.
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