[Most of us, somewhere along the road]

Most of us, somewhere along the road,

find the way lost and the dark wood

 

I, already old,

successful, happy, mourned

a hollow failure of the heart.

Your joy of life, your shining

feeling that everything

is possible, faded from you in

a narrow walled alley with no escape.

Now, outside hope,

the late sun breaks through

and round us, me and you

touching, the fairy world, flowers

and birdsong, is again ours.